


Little Fires Everywhere

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Falling In Love, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Nature, Phone Calls & Telephones, Phone Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 09:48:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19721215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: “So, why’d you come out here?” Shiro asks just as the silence around him starts to pluck at Keith’s anxiety.“What?” Keith asks, rubbing his eye. He feels himself stiffen up, what he’s left behind snapping at his heels. He’s not sure he’s ready to think about it— much less tell a stranger about it.“Everyone comes out here for a reason,” Shiro explains. “So… what made you drop everything and hike out into the woods for a whole summer?”Keith takes the forest service job as a fire watch expecting a summer alone with his thoughts and guilt. Instead, he meets Shiro— and the summer is suddenly much less quiet and much less lonely. Too bad he's never actually seen the guy face-to-face.





	Little Fires Everywhere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leftishark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leftishark/gifts).



> Fic request from [Sharki](https://twitter.com/leftishark_), who asked for sheith working for the forest service and falling in love over radio (to put it succinctly). 
> 
> This fic is vaguely based off the game Fire Watch; some dialogue has been borrowed from the game but most of the similarities end there!
> 
> Fun fact, I got to ask my park ranger brother-in-law if the forest service only uses half-duplex radios because I needed justification for how Shiro and Keith could communicate the way they do in this fic. Turns out, some higher-profile, higher-risk jobs will use full-duplex, two-way radios... so pretend Keith and Shiro are important enough to be using those types of radios and don't think about the technology too much. End disclaimer lol. (Also shout-out to my brother-in-law who did not then ask me why I wanted to know about the radios used in the park service.) 
> 
> A million thanks, as always, to Sarah for reading this over for me. You are a true treasure and sorry for making you nitpick so much radio nonsense only for me to yeet reality into the sun.

****

**Day 1**

Keith’s first official day as a fire watch will begin after a two-day hike into the Altea National Forest. The air’s already thick with a summer heat far different from what Keith’s used to— far different from Arizona, Keith thinks. As he stands at the trailhead, adjusting his cap, he squints at the customary forest service warnings tacked to the trailhead’s bulletin board: avoid bears, avoid fires, avoid cougars, avoid hiking alone.

He hears a distant cry of a red-tailed hawk as he sets off down the trail. The path’s well-worn and Keith’s familiar enough with mountaineering even if it’s his first time going so deep into this specific wilderness. He takes a deep breath, enjoying the sappy tang of evergreen, cedar boughs tilting upward above his head and the oaks above thick with acorns. 

Driving all the way out here, on back roads and old logging routes, Keith’d hoped that maybe this hike, this job, could be cleansing for him. There’s some sort of metaphor in fire: burn everything away until only what matters is left. There are swaths of fireweed dusting the sides of the trail, their bright flowers waving in the wind, proving that very point. 

But with each step Keith takes, he feels no weight lifting. With each step, the guilt presses down on him until it’s nearly smothering: he should be back home right now, not out here by himself. 

He shouldn’t be running away like this. _Coward._

Keith pauses, barely yards into the trail, and takes a deep, steadying breath. The sun pushes through the trees, scattering little bursts of light along the path. The hawk gives another lone, far cry. Keith breathes. 

He breathes. 

Then he hitches his pack up higher on his back and keeps walking. 

-

Keith makes it to Red Lion Lookout two days later, just as the sun’s starting to dip behind the western mountains. It’s strange, really, to be in such bright, warm light and to feel so uncentered. He always pictured sadness as a rainy day. Instead, his sadness is a sweaty, fatiguing hike in summer heat. The world is a burning fire, red-saturated sky and orange clouds dotting it. Soon that smoldering sky will fade and there will be stars, Keith knows, but it doesn’t quite soothe him like he hopes.

The sun sets completely just as he spots his tower. He’s sweaty and ready to stop hiking for the day, so it’s perfect timing. He folds his paper map into his pocket and walks with more purpose, angling towards that welcoming sight. All he has to do is climb those stairs and then he can collapse. 

His body aches with the hike and his calves feel knotted up as he crests the last hill and climbs to the top of his lookout tower. Each plank of wood creaks beneath his heavy footfalls as he climbs the steps. At the top, he shoulders the door open with a relieved sigh and tips his way into the lookout, clicking on the light as he goes. 

It’s a modestly-sized cabin, not that Keith has much experience with lookouts to know what counts as luxurious or sparse. There’s a camp stove on a counter, a wood-burning oven, a twin-sized mattress on an old bed frame, a desk with a radio and lamp, and old detritus from previous forest rangers and fire watchers— old books with curled edges, some rocks and fossils on a shelf, a sun-faded poster of local flora and fauna. There’s a map of the region tacked to a table at the center of the room. All around him are wide windows and outside is a wrap-around gangway— not wide enough to call a deck but easy enough to navigate. 

Keith sets down his pack and drapes himself in the chair at the desk. The bed is tempting, but he knows if he sits there, he won’t get up again and he needs to at least get the sheets on before he hibernates. They’re folded up and waiting for him at the foot of the bed. Keith sincerely hopes they’ve been washed. 

A voice ringing out from the radio on the desk interrupts his journey into complete vegetation: “Come in, Red Lion Tower.” 

Keith eyes the radio, wondering if he can take a moment to just breathe and forget he’s a human with jelly legs before he forces himself into conversation. Maybe whoever’s calling him will fuck off; there isn’t anybody nearby so it isn’t like they can know he’s sitting right there. 

“I know you’re in there,” the voice says, because the universe likes to prove Keith wrong.

The man’s voice is deep, masculine in a way that hits Keith dead in his chest. Despite the deep rumble of his voice, however, he doesn’t sound overly serious or stern. It’s hard to pinpoint it over a radio, but whoever it is sounds friendly. 

“Answer your radio,” the voice sings. 

With a sigh, Keith picks up the radio and pushes the button down so he can respond. “Uhh… Hello? Whoever this is.” 

“You’re Keith, right? ‘Whoever this is’ is Shiro,” the voice— Shiro— answers. 

“Oh, right,” Keith mutters, rubbing his temple to fight back an encroaching headache. He thinks back to the information packet he received in early spring when he accepted this job— the lead of the fire watch program, Takashi Shirogane. He remembers now. “Right. You’re uhh… my boss, I guess?” 

“More like a supervisor, I think,” Shiro answers, and his voice is decidedly friendly. “I’m in Black Lion Tower. See me out on the ridge? I’m north of you.”

Keith sighs again and, with some effort, turns himself around in his chair to look north. Sure enough, miles away he can just make out another lookout tower, its windows illuminated. Shiro’s tower, then. It’s hardly worth the effort of turning around. 

“I coordinate with the seven towers in this sector, since I have the highest vantage point,” Shiro explains, overly cheerful. Keith would rather pass out and die than listen to someone so aggressively chipper. “Saw your lights turn on and wanted to say hello.” 

“Yeah, uh. Well. Hi,” Keith says, feeling stupid. 

He has the distinct impression that Shiro is smiling when he answers, “Hi.” 

Keith watches the last of the sunset blaze the tops of the mountains, the last dredges of light staining the craggy peaks deep purple. He feels so profoundly tired. He’s been still long enough now that what he’s left behind is catching up on him. If he isn’t careful, he’ll get lost in his thoughts. He’s so tired. He’s so _tired._

Shiro cuts through Keith’s silence with a gentle, “You’re talkative, huh?” 

“Chatty as hell,” Keith mutters to himself before he pushes down the button on the radio and says to Shiro, “ _Look_ , it’s been a long day...” 

He’s maybe being a little more waspish than he’d like; he can hear the fatigue and frustration in his voice. Hardly the stuff of good first impressions. 

But he’s been hiking for two days and the last thing he expected when going so deep into the wilderness was _conversation._ He can’t very well tell his boss to shut the hell up, though. The last thing Keith needs is to get fired the first day on the job. 

“Yeah, I get it,” Shiro answers. “You’re tired. I shouldn’t keep you.”

“Yeah. I just want to pass out,” Keith confesses. “That cool? I promise you can give me orientation or whatever tomorrow.” 

“There’s not much to the job. Sit in the tower and look out for fires. Done. Get some sleep, Keith. I’ll go over things with you later.” 

“Sure.” 

He thinks Shiro might say something else, but Keith’s not listening. He sets the radio down next to the bed, manages to get the top sheet on two corners of his bed, then collapses and passes out within minutes. 

****

**Day 2**

Keith wakes up in a wet patch of his own drool and the sky outside the same deep sunset red as the day before. He’s slept the whole day away.

With a groan, he sits up, rubbing his eyes. 

“Fuck,” he whispers and gropes around for his radio. He sends out the call to Shiro, dreading that he’s already managed to fuck up by sleeping through his official first day of work. Excellent track record so far. “Hey, uh... Shiro?” 

“Good morning,” Shiro says over the walkie-talkie. He doesn’t sound like he’s about to verbally throw Keith out a window, at least. Small mercies. “Or, I guess, good evening? You slept like a log, I bet.” 

“Uh, yeah,” Keith says, scratching his cheek and staring out the window towards Shiro’s tower, the sun already low in the sky and smoldering red, all that light reflecting off his windows. “Shit. I really didn’t mean to sleep this long.” 

“That hike’s no joke,” Shiro answers, sympathetically. 

Keith rubs at his face, trying to banish his sleepiness. “Yeah. Guess it’d put a lot of people out of commission.” 

“Absolutely,” Shiro agrees. “Don’t worry. I’m surprised you’re even up now. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you until tomorrow morning. You must have great stamina!” 

“Not really,” Keith mutters, coughing. He peers at Shiro’s tower. “So, uh. Anyway. I’m awake now.”

“So you are,” Shiro agrees, cheerfully enough. 

Keith squints into the setting sun, scrubbing his hand through his hair. He feels groggy in that way only a long sleep can inspire: he’s shot way past rested and landed, instead, on decidedly overslept— he still feels just as exhausted, like he hasn’t slept at all. His body aches from a combination of a long hike and sleeping on an old mattress. 

“So, why’d you come out here?” Shiro asks just as the silence around him starts to pluck at Keith’s anxiety. 

“What?” Keith asks, rubbing his eye. He feels himself stiffen up, what he’s left behind snapping at his heels. He’s not sure he’s ready to think about it— much less tell a stranger about it. 

“Everyone comes out here for a reason,” Shiro explains. “So… what made you drop everything and hike out into the woods for a whole summer?” 

Keith groans before clicking the button down on the radio. Rather than answer he asks, “What made _you_ come out here?” 

“Guess.” 

Keith really doesn’t want to guess. So he says, dryly, “… You killed someone.”

Shiro barks a laugh. It crackles over the radio and Keith’s struck, suddenly, with a deep flood of warmth in his gut. It’s a pleasant sound. He likes hearing it. He doesn’t know what that means. 

“Damn, you got it,” Shiro chuckles, amusement coloring his voice. “Now I have to find you and make sure you don’t talk.” 

“Bad plan. You’re the only other person out here. You’ll be the obvious suspect when I disappear.” Keith smiles to himself, leaning his chin on his palm, staring north towards Shiro’s tower, the windows glinting in the setting sun, reflecting that golden light. “But seriously, you didn’t kill your last three wives or anything, right?” 

“Definitely not wives, but don’t ask where my three ex-husbands are or things are about to get awkward,” Shiro teases. 

“Oh,” Keith breathes and too late realizes he’s left the push-to-talk button pressed down. He clears his throat. “I definitely need to be on the lookout, then.” 

“That _is_ your job. Look out for fires. Look out for serial killer supervisors coming after you with an axe. Usual, boring summer job stuff.” 

Keith laughs, the sound startling out of him. He can’t remember the last time he laughed. “Noted.” 

“Okay, now your turn,” Shiro declares. 

“Yeah, goodnight.” 

“No, come back!” Shiro calls, his laugh crackling over the static. Keith feels himself blush anyway, unsure what it is about this guy’s laugh that’s pulling such obvious reactions from him. His only solace is that he’s alone in his tower and Shiro’s too far away to ever see him blush. Still, it’s embarrassing. 

“Fine,” Keith says, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Go ahead and guess.” 

“Hmmm…” Shiro’s voice is deep in a way that’s doing something to Keith’s frayed nerves. He desperately chooses to ignore it. Shiro considers and then says, “Well. Nine times out of ten, people come out here because of a broken heart.” 

“Ha.” 

“Am I close? Did you get dumped?” 

“Not even,” Keith mutters. “I’m single.” 

“Oh. I— um, I swear I wasn’t fishing for that,” Shiro protests, sounding embarrassed. 

“Sure you weren’t,” Keith answers, unsure why he’s teasing. It’s not like it means anything. “Why do you even want to talk to me, anyway?” Keith asks. He’s never been one to flinch away from the awkward conversations. Why start now? “I was a dick yesterday.” 

“Guess I’m just a sucker for a gravelly voice,” Shiro answers after a brief pause. 

Keith can’t tell if he’s joking or not. Either way, he sputters a little before he can manage an answer. “Oh.” He coughs, face getting hot. “Well. I guess I didn’t expect I’d be doing much talking up here.” 

“We can talk as little or as much as you want,” Shiro says. “If you don’t want me bugging you, I won’t.” 

“Okay,” Keith says and isn’t sure what he wants. “So, what now?” 

“Now… you sit on your ass for three months and keep an eye out for fires,” Shiro answers. “There. Orientation done! Welcome aboard, Keith.” 

“That all?” Keith asks. “Really?” 

“Well, the nearest park ranger is two days out, so on the off-chance we get campers this far up, you’ll be on the hook for those duties. Nothing major. Just scaring the shit out of teenagers if they light campfires, looking for bear tracks, making sure nobody’s poaching the fish. That kinda stuff.” 

“Got it,” Keith says, standing from the chair and wandering around the room. He runs his fingers along the map at the center, studying the creeks leading to the lake. His stomach growls with hunger and he really needs to piss. “So…” 

“So,” Shiro says, maybe sensing Keith’s line of thinking. “I’ll leave it to you. Reach out if you run into any questions, yeah?” 

“Sure, Shiro,” Keith answers and pockets his radio before putting on the kettle to boil water for some coffee. 

-

He doesn’t know why, but twenty minutes later when he’s sitting on the steps of his tower, sipping some stale coffee, and staring at the swaying lines of the trees, he decides to fish the radio out of his pocket. 

“So…” he says and lets the sentence trail off. 

It’s totally dark now, the only light from the stars and the soft light of his tower, and he doesn’t have to wait long before Shiro’s voice parrots, “So…?” 

Keith thumbs along the ridge of the radio, swirling around the PTT button. In the distance, he can see the light from Shiro’s tower. It’s somehow comforting, although he has no reason to be connected to Shiro at all. 

“So, tell me about yourself,” Keith prompts. There’s a pair of binoculars on the sill of one of the windows inside. He wonders if they’ll be powerful enough for him to see Shiro through them, come daylight. 

“What do you want to know?” Shiro asks and Keith isn’t sure if it’s a genuine question or a dodge of Keith’s question. 

Keith frowns, thoughtful. “Why’d you kill your husbands?” 

Shiro bursts into laughter but it cuts off mid snort when his finger leaves the call button. Keith wishes he’d heard the whole of it. A moment later, Shiro answers: “First one snored, second one never did the dishes, and the third one was only after the whole ten dollars to my name.” 

“Brutes, the whole lot of them,” Keith says and smiles. 

****

**Day 3**

Keith manages to get some sleep and wake up at a decent hour the next morning. Shiro doesn’t radio him first thing and so Keith adjusts to his new life for the summer: locating all the necessary staple foods and cleaning products, the snapped container for trash, the questionably old granola bars. He hikes down to the outhouse with a composting toilet at the bottom of the hill his tower sits on, makes sure there’s toilet paper, and notes the generator humming away beside it, its gasoline levels full enough. 

It’s a warm morning so while Keith’s body still aches from muscle fatigue, he still decides to hike around the little paths criss-crossing near his tower. It’s mostly wooded areas, understandably, but from his vantage point, Keith can see the lake and the river running through the canyon to the east leading towards it. The forest is a mix of deciduous and evergreen, birds flicking between branches. Their calls are chipper and sweet, what Keith thinks are chickadees and sparrows, although he doesn’t know the region and its wildlife well just yet. 

He hitches his backpack up high on his back and hikes to the canyon, using one of the many ropes and rappelling equipment packed up in his tower to start his descent. It’s early enough that the morning fog in the canyon hasn’t burned off yet and he feels the chill coil around his bare legs as he descends, leaving him shivering. Maybe his ugly cargo shorts weren’t the way to go. 

Once he’s on even footing again, Keith doesn’t really think about it as he fishes his radio out of his pocket, depresses the button, and says, “Damn, it’s cold in the canyon.” 

There isn’t an immediate answer, so Keith keeps walking, admiring the streaking lines of stone along the canyon walls, eons and eons of build-up and basalt. The air’s cool and the sun’s shining and it’s so quiet. Almost peaceful. 

Keith’s skimming his fingers along the sharp edge of a boulder when Shiro’s voice cuts crisp and clear over the radio: “Yeah, it takes a while for the sun to hit the mist and burn it off. It stays really cool in the caves down there, too.” 

“I bet,” Keith answers. 

“Enjoying a hike, I take it,” Shiro says, conversational. 

Keith smiles, adjusting the cap on his head and glancing up at the sky. He’s too deep in the canyon to see his tower or Shiro’s, but the sky’s clear above the mist. “Might as well, right? It’s no good if I don’t know the area.” 

“You big into the outdoors, then?” Shiro asks and then laughs at himself a moment later. “I mean, obviously you can’t hate it if you’re here.” 

“I used to do some bouldering back in Arizona,” Keith confesses. “Hikes there aren’t quite like here, though.” 

“Are you from there?” Shiro asks. Keith nods before remembering that Shiro wouldn’t be able to see that and hums his affirmation. “Wow, what’s brought you all the way up here?” 

“I robbed a bank,” Keith says. “I’m trying to lie low.”

“Working for the US government might be the opposite of lying low, no matter how far into the woods you hike,” Shiro teases. 

“So where are you from, then?” Keith asks. 

“San Francisco.” 

“Bay Area, huh?” Keith isn’t sure why he keeps talking with Shiro— this is all hardly official business and there was nothing in the job requirement that specified team-building— and yet here he is, walking in the mid-morning and listening to a man’s beautiful voice. Keith asks, “That where your five husbands are buried?” 

“I’m up to five now? I got busy last night, clearly.” Shiro laughs. “No husbands, but my parents are out there. Uh, alive and unmurdered, I should clarify. Alive and wondering what I’m doing all the way up here.” 

“Isn’t that what parents are supposed to do?” Keith asks, rhetorically. “My mom also wondered—” 

He cuts himself off, feeling too raw to mention his mom and _not_ his dad. He’s sure the omission is obvious, sure that Shiro’s going to pry, going to pluck at every little aching wound in Keith’s body. He suddenly feels full-bodied ached, and not because of the hike. 

Instead, though, Shiro’s voice is gentle when he answers into Keith’s long, stretching silence: “I always tell them that if they wonder what I’m doing so much, they should come up here and see for themselves. But they don’t do the whole camping thing anymore.” 

“Yeah, I get it. I used to go out into the desert all the time, but… yeah. Hard to beat baths, right?” Keith says with a shrug and smiles a bit when Shiro laughs again. He likes that Shiro doesn’t try to disguise it, lets it come pouring in over the radio. There’s something organic about it, painfully sincere. He laughs easily and Keith’s always envied people who can do that, especially now. 

“Okay, so. You robbed a bank and now you’re lying low,” Shiro says, picking up the earlier thread; Keith’s grateful for it, grateful to steer away from talking about parents. 

“And you…” Keith considers, “Are out here rebelling against your mom’s expectations of you. She wanted you to be a chef and you wanted to hug trees.” 

Shiro laughs again, deep and warm, bouncing off the canyon’s walls. “Oh no, my mom would have hated if I’d become a chef, too.” 

Keith’s about to tease more but rounds a natural bend in the canyon’s path and spots a brightly-painted yellow cache box. He tells Shiro about it, approaching it and kicking at one of its legs to test its sturdiness. A padlock swings along the latch. 

“Oh yeah, those are used by the rangers and firewatchers. There’s a bunch in the area. The code’s the same on all of them: 1-2-3-4.” 

“Wow, secure,” Keith says. 

“Hush,” Shiro laughs. 

Keith snaps the numbers into the lock and plucks it open, lifting the lid to the box and peering inside. There’s a map taped to the lid marking Keith’s current location but in the box itself is just a cool-looking round stone and an old granola bar. 

“I’ve hit the jackpot,” Keith says into the radio, dryly. “I can leave this life behind and retire peacefully to a yacht.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah. Remember me fondly,” Keith drawls, closing the lid. 

“I’m sure I will, Keith.” 

-

Once he’s back in his tower, Keith picks up the binoculars at the windowsill and peers through them. It takes some adjusting but, eventually, he gets the Black Lion Tower in his scope. There’s a jacket draped over the railing, air-drying in the summer sun, he thinks. One sleeve flaps in a light breeze dancing along the ridge. 

He can just barely make out a figure— Shiro— but he’s too far away to see distinctly. All Keith can really tell is that he looks tall and has wide shoulders. 

Shiro’s also looking through binoculars, it seems, set up on a tripod on his gangway. He waves, but it’s not a little glancing flick of the wrist. It’s full-bodied, his left arm arcing through the air in an overdramatization of a wave: big enough that Keith can see it despite the distance. A moment later, Keith’s radio crackles to life with an amused, “Caught you staring!” 

-

“So… showering?” Keith asks after lunch. 

“Mm. The lake? Or the river. You can use some of the water in the cistern if you want, but I recommend saving that for drinking and washing dishes. It runs out fast otherwise.” 

“Great. Can’t wait to send my bare ass into that lake and freeze to death,” Keith mutters. That lake is glacier-fed. It’s going to be cold as hell. 

Shiro chuckles. “You get used to it.” 

“It’ll be just my luck if I get mauled by a bear while I’m naked,” Keith declares, kicking his feet up on the desk and lounging back, cradling the radio near his jaw and using the antenna to scratch his cheek. He balances on just two legs of his chair, flirting with a smaller sort of danger. 

“I’m sure the bear will enjoy it,” Shiro says. “If that’s any consolation.” 

****

**Day 4**

The lake is, indeed, cold as hell. Keith makes the mistake of just plunging into it to get it over with and comes out shrieking, imagining just how deeply Shiro would laugh if he could hear him.

****

**Day 7**

“I got it. You’ve come out here because people can’t stand you back home,” Keith says first thing in the morning, the radio pressed to his mouth before he’s even rolled out of bed. 

Keith’s not sure if a few days long joke can be considered a tradition, but it’s how Keith’s taken to greeting the day. Wake up, grab the radio, tell Shiro why he’s here. Shiro always guesses, too. Keith isn’t sure what he’d do if one of them actually guessed the real reasons, but for now he’s willing to play the game. And there’s something pleasant about starting the day with Shiro’s laughter in his ear. 

“Ouch!” Shiro chuckles. “You trying to tell me something, Keith?” 

Keith laughs, too, and throws his blanket back as he sits up. It’s early enough in the morning that the heat hasn’t leached into his tower but his shirt clings to his back from a night sweat. Gross. 

He toes on his hiking boots. “Now guess me.”

Shiro hums over the radio and then says, “You’re actually a celebrity, doing some research for an upcoming movie role. You’re a method actor.” 

It’s far too generous and stupid. “I tried acting once.”

“And?”

“And once was enough,” Keith declares, hoping it’ll spark Shiro’s laughter. It does, and Keith listens to it as he crosses the room to put on the kettle to boil. He shakes out his hand before pushing the button down with a grumbling, “Hurts my thumb after a while to hold this button down.”

“Oh, yeah,” Shiro says. “If I’m having long conversations, I just tape mine down. Makes it easier to keep the connection open. Plus, leaves my hand free!” 

“Smart,” Keith says, squinting at the kettle, willing it to boil faster. 

“Or you could be super fancy and get a headset,” Shiro continues. “I have one for the longer days I know I’ll be camped out at my desk, directing the masses. Voice-activated and all that fancy stuff.” 

“How’d you get so smart?” Keith coos, mocking. He worries for a moment that it’s too sarcastic and that Shiro will be insulted. 

“Maybe being a know-it-all is why people back home can’t stand me, right?” Shiro teases back, unperturbed by Keith’s sarcasm. Keith can feel him smiling through his words alone. 

****

**Day 9**

“Hey, when do new supplies come in?” Keith asks as he grimaces his way through a sip of stale coffee. It’s been over a week since he’s suffered his way through the stale grounds and enough is, frankly, enough. 

Shiro’s answer is immediate, like he was just waiting for Keith to contact him: “Once a month unless there’s an emergency. Why?”

“Please, Shiro, for the love of god, get me some fresh coffee.” Keith wrinkles his nose up as he stomachs through another sip. 

Shiro laughs. “Noted.” 

****

**Day 13**

“Shit,” Shiro radios mid-afternoon. “Do you see that?” 

“What?” Keith asks, swiveling his head around from where he’s lounging on the wrap-around walkway of his tower. It’s hardly large enough for sunbathing, and Keith has a peeling nose already from sunburn— the light here is different from Arizona, okay, it isn’t his fault— but Keith isn’t above comparing himself to a lizard: absorb some sun, store some heat. As he turns his head, he spots a thin curl of smoke peeking out beyond the line of trees. 

“East of you, down towards the lake,” Shiro says, redundant, and Keith realizes he forgot to confirm that he saw.

“Yeah, I got eyes on it,” Keith says, hoisting himself up from his gangly-limbed sprawl. “Is that a fire?” 

“It’s either the start of a forest fire or it’s some camper who decided to ignore the fire ban,” Shiro confirms. 

“So you really can get campers out this far?” Keith asks, already jumping down the steps of the tower to go check it out, his backpack bouncing at his back and paper map tucked into his pocket. “I’m checking it out now.” 

“If it’s the start of a fire, don’t try to put it out yourself. Let me know and I’ll call it in,” Shiro warns. 

“And if it’s a camper?”

“Yell at them.”

“Got it, boss. Beat the shit out of them,” Keith jokes as he trots down the path towards the lake. 

“Keith!” Shiro gasps and then laughs. “No, god. Don’t do that.”

“Right, I’ll leave the body disposal to you, mister widower,” Keith agrees. “You must be an expert after dispensing with ten of your husbands.” 

“Ten?” Shiro laughs. “I’m afraid to ask how tempting you think I am that I managed to snag ten husbands.” 

Keith smiles and doesn’t answer. There’s no good response to that— it’d either be a lie or far too close to the truth. The truth is that he doesn’t know what Shiro looks like, sure, but he likes his voice. He likes that it’s the first thing he hears in the morning and he likes talking to him in general. He likes how rusty Shiro’s voice sounds at night, when he’s nodding off but still trying to talk to Keith. 

It’s strange. Keith’s never considered himself much of a people person. Part of the appeal to coming out here was to get away, to not have to think, to leave all his memories behind. He could be by himself and wouldn’t have to think about his dad— wouldn’t have to think about anything. He never would have expected he’d spend so much time so far away just talking to some guy. But it’s nice. Keith can’t pretend it isn’t. _Shiro_ is nice and though Keith can’t think he deserves it, he isn’t about to shove it away, either. 

Hard to imagine feeling clingy via radio, and yet here he is. 

Keith gets down towards the lake and finds a campfire lapsed down to embers. He stamps it out with his boot and then throws some dirt onto it for good measure when he can’t find any water to douse it. He doesn’t see any of the campers, but he sees evidence of plenty of drinking, beer cans littering the otherwise pristine field they’ve set up camp in. Backpacks are tucked up near the outcropping of rock, easy to overlook but still standing out with their brightly colored fabric. 

“Assholes,” Keith mutters, plucking a plastic bag from his backpack and cleaning up the beer cans; he can’t trust they’re going to pack it out if they’re too stupid not to make a fire during wildfire season. Once he’s finished, plastic bag tied off at his hip straps, he radios Shiro: “Got the fire out. Don’t see the campers yet. Should I go find them and yell at them? Can I like… I don’t know, give them a ticket?” 

“You’re not a park ranger, Keith,” Shiro dismisses. “You’re not allowed to issue tickets.” 

“Well call the cops then,” Keith declares. “I’m sure they’ll love to hike up here for two days to arrest some hooligans.” 

There’s a long pause and then Shiro asks, voice thick with amusement, “I’m sorry, did you just say _hooligans_? Are you actually eighty years old?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Keith declares, following the path towards the lake. “Whatever. I’m going to find these guys and tell them to knock it off. I don’t want to keep hiking down here to stamp out their fire.” 

“My hero,” Shiro says, teasing but light. 

Keith smiles to himself. “Hardly. Maybe I just get off on shouting at people?” 

“Drill Sergeant Keith,” Shiro jokes. 

Keith does indeed yell at the dumb teenagers who started the campfire. They claim it was an accident and they didn’t know, and they bribe Keith with the last of their beer to get him to not write them a ticket. Keith doesn’t bother correcting them on his distinct lack of authority and happily takes the beer, shoving the cans into his pack.

-

“Those campers bribed me, by the way,” Keith says, cracking one of those beers open. He lets his legs hang over the side of the tower’s gangway, kicking in the wind. “I must exude authority in my cargo shorts and baseball cap.”

“Oh yeah, that’ll get the blood pumping,” Shiro agrees. “Very sexy.” 

Keith spits out a bit of beer. It dribbles down his chin and, embarrassed, he’s quick to swipe it away with the back of his hand. He’s facing north, eyes on Shiro’s tower, his face pink. “Do you have booze over there?” 

“I’m not an animal,” Shiro confirms. 

“Got any good fire watcher drinking games, then?” Keith asks. “Take a shot every time you see smoke? Chug your beer every time a hawk cries?” 

“How dramatic,” Shiro murmurs but Keith thinks he’s amused. 

Keith’s starting to pick up on Shiro’s tells. He laughs easily and Keith’s started categorizing them; there’s the mundane little laugh-through-his-nose that means Shiro didn’t really find what Keith said laugh-out-loud funny but wants to acknowledge the inherent humor, and then all the way on the other end of the spectrum is the deep belly laugh that rattles Keith’s bones and leaves him feeling warm for hours. His favorite, though, is when Shiro snorts through his laughter. 

Right now, Keith can hear the way amusement curls Shiro’s words. He’s not laughing but Keith can imagine that he’s smiling, that his eyes are warmed from the inside out. He wishes he knew what Shiro’s eyes looked like, if only for curiosity’s sake. 

Keith sips his beer and asks, “Well?” 

“Never have I ever stolen money from my parents,” Shiro announces.

Keith spits his beer out for the second time. It takes him a moment to steady his breath around a coughing fit before he wheezes, “Shiro, are we in middle school?” 

“You’re the one who asked for a drinking game!” Shiro protests. “I stand by it.” 

“Seriously, you’ve _never_ stolen money from them?” Keith asks. “Not even a quarter for like, bubblegum or some shit?” 

“What can I say? I’m a very good boy,” Shiro hums and Keith absolutely does not blush at the statement. “Well?” Shiro asks. “Are you drinking or not?” 

“Drinking,” Keith declares, sipping his beer. “I took money from my dad’s pockets all the time… pretty sure if he didn’t know already, he’d have been fine with just giving me what I asked.” His heart gives that familiar pang whenever he thinks of his dad, but he quashes it down. “Okay, never have I ever… swam in the ocean.” 

“Seriously?” Shiro asks and Keith hears him take a sip of a drink. “Never?” 

“Arizona’s landlocked,” Keith explains. “This is my first time leaving the state.” 

“Wow,” Shiro murmurs. “You should go before you head back. It’ll be cold as hell this far north, though. But worth it.” 

“I’m getting used to cold water with the lake,” Keith answers. Quietly, he offers, “You’ll have to show me all the good beaches.” 

“Hmm, maybe I will.” Shiro’s voice is feather-light and so unbearably gentle. Keith feels a thrill of triumph in his chest. 

“It’s your turn,” Keith reminds him. “What other things have you never done, good boy?”

Shiro giggles and it’s oddly adorable. Keith bites down hard on his lip. 

“Well?” Keith prompts when Shiro doesn’t offer anything. “Do you want to keep playing or what?” 

“Sure. This is a nice way to get to know each other,” Shiro says and Keith isn’t sure if there’s something weighted in the way he says that or not. Keith’s so entirely out of his depth. He hardly understands people on the best of days. “I’m just trying to think of something.” 

“Hit me with your best shot,” Keith says. 

“Never have I ever…” Shiro pauses here and thinks for a long time. Enough time passes that Keith worries that maybe his radio battery needs recharging or Shiro forgot to press his button down. Finally, though, Shiro offers, “Never have I ever had more than one full-time job as an adult.” 

“Asshole!” Keith laughs. “That’s cheating.” 

Shiro giggles again. “Drink up, Keith.” 

** **

**Day 17**

“The moon’s pretty tonight,” Shiro offers, quietly. It’s been about an hour of silence and Keith smiles to himself as he sips one of his bribery beers. He doesn’t mind the silence; he’s used to being alone with his thoughts, after all. But the company isn’t so bad. 

“It is,” Keith agrees. The moon tonight is full, hanging heavy in the sky, casting its eerie silver light over the tops of the trees and the ground below. “It kind of blows my mind just how damn pretty it is out here. It’s never this green in Arizona.” 

“Missing home?” Shiro asks, a gentle invitation for Keith to talk about himself, if he wants to. Shiro keeps doing that, Keith thinks— offering, but never demanding. It’s different from what Keith’s used to. 

Keith pulls a long drink from his beer and sighs before answering. “A little. It’s… hard to think about home right now.” 

“Need to talk about it?” 

“Not really,” Keith answers. “I just… I don’t know. I don’t want to get all morbid on you, but. Yeah… I left things a little up in the air back home.” 

“Because of the grand theft auto, huh?” Shiro asks, his morning suggestion for Keith’s reason for being here.

Keith laughs. “Yeah, exactly.” Maybe the beer’s affecting him more than he thinks, although it’s the kind of beer that tastes like piss and hardly puts a dent in Keith’s blood alcohol level. Keith scrubs a hand over his eyes and tells Shiro, “I’m a coward. I feel like one. I kinda… I don’t know. I should be back home right now and I’m not. I’m here instead.” 

“Hey…” Shiro says. 

“Sorry,” Keith dismisses. “I just said I didn’t want to talk about it and then I’m dumping— whatever this is on you.” 

“Hey,” Shiro says again, gently. “It’s okay.” 

Keith’s viscerally aware of Shiro’s voice in that moment, and the yawning distance between Keith and this other person. It’s somehow reassuring that nobody’s looking at him with that pitying look or trying to give him some sort of pitiful hug. He’s far too used to that. 

Shiro’s voice, though, is undeniably soothing. It drapes over Keith like a blanket. “You’re here,” Shiro says. “And it’s beautiful. And sometimes escaping isn’t a bad thing, Keith.” 

“What would you know about that?” Keith asks and it’s maybe cruel, maybe a little too snappish.

Shiro is impossibly patient, though, as he answers, “I might know a thing or two about escaping.” He pauses and then adds, “My husbands, remember?”

Keith’s grateful for the joke and he can’t help the little laugh, although it, perhaps, comes out waterier than he would like. “Thanks, Shiro.” 

“You know, when I was a kid,” Shiro says, “I wanted to be an astronaut. Wanted to go to all the moons in our solar system, starting with ours.” 

“Yeah?” Keith asks, grateful for the topic change. 

“I always liked space. Still do.” 

“And how’d you end up in the forest instead?” Keith asks. 

“For my Eagle Scout project, I designed and maintained a wetland observational path and it just made me really fall in love with nature preservation. This isn’t quite that since, well, fire watching and all, but it’s nice. I enjoy it.”

“Of _course_ you were a fucking Eagle Scout,” Keith laughs. 

“Do I somehow exude that energy or something?” Shiro asks, laughing, too. 

“Whole-heartedly. You probably help little old ladies cross the street and pull cats from trees.” Keith chugs his beer, chuckling to himself. “Getting all the guys to swoon for you, I bet.” 

“Ha,” Shiro laughs and Keith wonders if he’s embarrassed, wonders if he’s smiling. He thinks of the figure through the binoculars, watching him back and waving. He wishes, suddenly, that he was sitting on the steps of his tower with Shiro beside him, wishes he could lean against his knee and see what his smile looks like, see the way it colors his voice with warmth. 

The beer really must be hitting him. He downs the rest of it and stares up at the moon. 

****

**Day 19**

Things fall into their routine, because of course they do. Keith wakes in the morning, radios Shiro hello, eats breakfast, and drinks his coffee. He washes his dishes, collecting grey water in a bucket. If he has to, he’ll wash himself up in the lake. He’ll hike around along the trails, trying to sketch whatever wildlife he sees— mostly elk, deer, raccoons, and chipmunks— and then camp out in his tower looking for tendrils of smoke. 

He’s starting to identify the wildlife better. Aspen tree and cottonwood tree groves, thick swaths of ferns cloistered on the forest floor. Keith’s quickly decided that licorice fern is his favorite if only for the name (although, he later learns when he tells Shiro about it, Shiro absolutely hates licorice on principle). 

Keith loves the wildflowers most of all. They remind him of an Arizona desert after rainfall: something that so many people call barren erupted with color and fragrance. He loves spotting them among the ancient hemlocks or dotting the alpine ridges. He likes the Indian plum and red-flowering currant if only for the brief glances of hummingbirds before they buzz away. 

Through it all, it’s easy to talk with Shiro. Keith never thought he’d be the type of person to endure idle conversations. He hates small talk with everything he is, but it never feels that way with Shiro. Talking about licorice fern isn’t small talk for the sake of talking, it’s understanding someone on a deeper level. Keith’s never felt that before, never felt a desire to get to know someone, to find that transition between unknown to known. 

It’s a nice feeling, to think of it. It’s nicer still to think that Shiro asks him questions, talks with him, because he wants to get to know Keith, too. (Shiro’s favorite fern, as it turns out, is the bracken fern.) 

Today, Keith hikes through paths of ferns as he sets out to the supplies cache. He needs to pick up a new sack of food and necessities for the next month. 

“Is it too much work to just go the extra half a mile to deliver to the towers?” Keith mutters, slogging his way up a hill. His stamina and muscles have both improved even after just two weeks, but it doesn’t mean he’s eager to haul back supplies. 

Still, he can’t help but approve of his calves. They’ve never looked better. He knows he’s bulking up. He’s never going to be delusional enough to think his cargo shorts are a fashion statement, but he hazards to think he might make them look good now. 

“I get mine hand-delivered,” Shiro says, proudly. 

“How’d you pull that off?” Keith mutters, wiping his forehead as he crests a hill, watching a hawk float above him. 

“It’s what happens when you’ve worked for the service for ten years. You get to hike around for your supplies, and I get to sit inside and do crosswords. Life’s unfair, huh?” Shiro asks, voice in that obnoxiously cute sing-song he does when he’s teasing Keith. 

Keith tells himself he doesn’t like it. 

“Guess you weren’t lying the other night when you said this is your one job,” Keith mutters, spotting the cache at the ridgeline, tucked under a hemlock, and heading towards it. “Ten years, huh?” 

“Ten years,” Shiro says, proudly. “Been here since I was a little idiot looking for adventure.”

“And did you find it?” 

“Still living it!” 

Keith shakes his head, fondly, and clicks open the lock on the cache. He digs around. “Oh, the good stuff. There’s jerky in here and shit.” 

“Try to leave something in there if you can,” Shiro teases. “That cache’s also for the Yellow and Green lookouts. They’ll kill me if there’s no jerky left.” 

Keith sighs and mournfully tips a few more packs of jerky back into the cache box. He spots a bag of coffee with his name literally on the bag and lets out a soft sound of pleasure. “Fuck, you got me the good stuff!” 

“Coffee?”

“Yeah,” Keith sighs. He can’t believe Shiro remembered. “Thanks, Shiro.” 

“Only the best for my lookouts,” Shiro says, sounding overly proud of himself. “Got the rangers to commit to better stuff than Folgers. It’s freshly ground, too.” 

Keith presses the bag to his nose and inhales. Definitely fresh coffee. He could die happy. He shoves it into his backpack, as if somehow the fates will snatch it away from him again. 

“Seriously, Shiro. Thanks,” Keith says, closing and locking up the cache box once he’s resupplied on rolls of toilet paper and matches for his camp stove. 

“You’re welcome,” Shiro says. “I want you to be happy here, Keith.” 

Keith isn’t sure if he’s happy— he isn’t sure, really, if he’s capable of happiness just yet. The past swells behind him like a phantom and he turns to walk back down the path, feeling cold despite the summer heat. 

“Keith?” Shiro asks when Keith is quiet for too long. 

“Sorry,” Keith answers, slowing his pace. “Was closing up the cache. Didn’t have hands free. Anyway, I’m heading back now and going to camp out in the tower for most of the day, I think. Maybe try drawing a bit.” 

“You draw?” Shiro asks.

Keith blushes. “Nothing fancy, just… doodles and sketches, mostly. I’m not good at it.” 

“I bet you’re being modest,” Shiro decides. “You’re a pretty humble guy, Keith.” 

“How can you tell?” Keith asks, hopping over a fallen log blocking the path. His face feels red and not from the high summer sun. 

“The way you talk about yourself, mostly.” 

“How do you know I don’t just suck?” Keith returns easily, always ready to joke. “It’s not self-deprecation if it’s the truth.” 

“Please,” Shiro dismisses and he sounds entirely too earnest. “Anyway. You’ll have to show me your drawings sometime. If you wanted.” 

“What’s the protocol for lookouts meeting up to hang out?” Keith asks.

“Definitely not what we’re paid for,” Shiro says. “Plus, there’s the giant ravine between you and me. Not exactly a day hike.”

“Too bad,” Keith says and finds that he means it. He swallows the lump that climbs in his throat. Stupid. So stupid. 

“Yeah,” Shiro murmurs, after a brief pause. Keith wonders what thought’s changing his tone. 

Keith’s too afraid to ask.

** **

**

Day 22

**

** **

He drinks so much coffee. The fancy coffee Shiro got for him is really damn good, especially when he gets to drink it first thing in the morning and watch the sun rise and the mist clear from the canyon. He’d tear his way through it within days if he didn’t force himself to pace it out, to savor every sip. 

** **

**Day 24**

When Keith wakes up and has his coffee for the day, he plucks up the radio and, as his morning greeting, says, “You’re actually the prince of a small European country and you’ve come out here to escape your suitors.” 

Shiro doesn’t answer right away. Keith peers up at the sun, wondering if perhaps Shiro’s still sleeping. Usually he answers right away, or at least has a slight delay. But no response comes. 

Keith taps his fingers along the radio, checking to make sure it’s on. He wonders if maybe he didn’t push the button hard enough and his message didn’t go through. 

He makes sure it is now. “Shiro? Are you there?” 

The silence stretches. Keith sits up, anxious. 

“Oh shit, you’re not actually a prince, are you?” Keith asks, attempts to joke, but it sounds brittle even to his own ears. He stands from his bed and plucks the binoculars off the sill, peering north. 

There’s no movement in Shiro’s tower. That’s not too unusual; Shiro obviously leaves his tower, too, to get to the caches and maintain his own portion of the forest. But Shiro never leaves without his radio. 

In the silence that stretches, Keith wonders if maybe Shiro’s been injured. If he’s lost his radio or he’s fallen somewhere. Would anyone know? Would anyone know where or how to look for him? 

Keith’s halfway through a rescue plan, staring at the map of the region and determining his best route to locating Shiro despite the massive ravine between them when the radio crackles to life. 

“Sorry,” Shiro says and sounds tired. “Had to contact my secret service since you figured out my identity. You’ll be getting a visit from my bodyguards shortly.”

“Fuck,” Keith breathes, the tension still coiled up in his shoulders. “Are you okay? Where were you?” 

How ridiculous, he thinks, that he’d be this anxious over someone he barely knows, has barely known for three weeks. Has never even met in person. And yet, in that moment, all he can feel is a blind sort of panic, a quiet need to make sure that Shiro’s okay, to put eyes on him and assess him. Make sure he’s safe. 

“Yeah, sorry, I’m okay,” Shiro confesses, voice tinged with what sounds like pain. “Uh… hm. Just doing some morning stretches?” 

“Are you really okay?” 

Shiro hums. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just a bit sore. It happens. I’m fine, Keith.” 

He’s lying, Keith thinks, but he also can’t blame him for it. There’re plenty of things that Keith’s been skirting around in their conversations. He can’t hold it against Shiro if he doesn’t want to confess what he’s up to. 

“Just say you were taking a shit if that’s what you were doing,” Keith mutters. 

“How do you know I don’t talk to you while I’m doing that?” Shiro asks.

“Ew,” Keith says, wrinkling his nose. “Don’t tell me that.” 

He waits, though, to see if Shiro will offer the real reason. Nothing comes and Keith can’t tell if he’s imagining the strain to Shiro’s voice all day. 

** **

**Day 27**

“Damn, it’s hot,” Shiro sighs.

“Big baby,” Keith answers, setting down the radio as he wrings out the water from the shirt he’s submerging in the river, scrubbing at the pit stains with a handful of pebbles. He wipes his hands dry before picking the radio back up again. “This is _nothing_ like Arizona heat. You wouldn’t last one day in Phoenix if you think this is hot.” 

“Forgive me for not being able to handle anything over ninety degrees, Keith.”

“Hmmm,” Keith hums and pauses to whip his shirt through the air, sending little droplets of excess water. He picks up his radio again and says, “I don’t think I can, Shiro. It’s too late.” 

“Too bad,” Shiro sighs. “Just as we were really starting to become friends.” 

Keith nearly drops his shirt in the river. “Oh,” he whispers, blushing. “We’re friends?” 

There’s a long pause and when Shiro speaks again, he’s absolutely flustered. “Oh, I— I thought we were?” 

Christ, Keith’s managed to make it awkward. He feels his entire face turn red. 

“Yeah, no— No, we are friends,” Keith’s quick to say, nearly fumbling and throwing all his clothes into the river. He blushes more, feeling it heat his entire face and flush down his neck towards his chest. “We’re… friends.” 

Shiro laughs. “You sound surprised!” 

“You surprised me,” Keith mutters, shoving all his wet clothes into his backpack so he can take them back to his tower and dry them off. “Don’t make fun of me. I have no idea what I’m doing half the time.” 

“I wasn’t going to make fun of you,” Shiro says, just a little breathless. “You’ve said a few times you’re not good with people. Although I’m not sure I believe that.” 

Keith picks his way carefully across the river, planting his feet on the stones to keep from falling in. The shorts he’s wearing are clingy on his thighs, anyway, since he also soaked them in the river. He plans to strip them off once he’s back at the tower but flat-out refuses to go hiking through the woods in hiking boots and nothing else. It’d be just his luck if a fish hopped out of the river and bit his dick or something. 

“You should definitely believe I’m shitty with people,” Keith tells Shiro as he starts hiking out of the canyon and back towards his tower. “You’re…” he pauses, unsure if he should say this or not. His cheeks still feel warm. “You’re the first person I’ve ever really— felt comfortable talking to like this.”

“Yeah?” Shiro asks.

Keith coughs. “I dunno. A month of total isolation will do that for you.” 

Shiro chuckles. “I guess so. You’re handling it pretty well, though. I have some lookouts who barely talk with me. But you and I talk every day.”

“Oh,” Keith says, pausing on the path. “I didn’t… I didn’t realize I was talking so much. I mean, I’m probably bothering you. I can shut up… give you a few days of peace.”

“No, don’t!” Shiro says. “I like talking with you, Keith.” 

“You do?” 

“Because we’re friends,” Shiro teases. “No, I’m serious. I like talking with you. I’m always really happy when you radio me.”

“Oh,” Keith whispers. “Yeah. Me too.” He sits with that feeling, his stomach feeling all squirmy, and then he says, “I have to climb up the canyon wall now. Be right back.” 

He pockets his radio and climbs. 

-

By the time Shiro messages him again, Keith’s back on his tower’s gangway and laying out his clothes on the railing to sun dry. Once his clothes are all lined up, Keith sighs and kicks off his boots and strips his shorts down, draping them over the railing, too.

He feels incredibly exposed, standing there naked, but it’s not so bad. It’s not every day you get to feel a warm breeze on your dick, after all. 

Of course, then Shiro calls over the radio, “Hey, are you back in your tower?” 

Keith’s turning to reach for his radio when he actually _hears_ Shiro give an audible sputter and the connection cuts off. He probably dropped his radio. 

Keith puzzles over that for only a moment before Shiro’s voice rings out again, just a bit squeaky, “Keith, are you— naked?” 

Keith’s feels his cheeks turn pink as he turns to look north towards Shiro’s tower. Shiro probably looked through his binoculars to see if Keith was back and saw just naked skin instead. 

“It’s laundry day,” Keith mutters into his radio. “C- can you see me even that far away?” 

Shiro must have fancier binoculars than he does. Shiro is silent for such a long time, no joke coming in over the radio, and Keith suddenly frets that he’s broken some sort of firewatcher code. 

“Sorry,” Keith mutters. “Uhhh… I can go put on pants if this is against some sort of forest law or something.” 

Shiro laughs, but it sounds strained. 

“No, I, uh. You do you? I just… was surprised,” Shiro mutters. “I didn’t see much of anything, if that helps. You’re, uh, too far away.”

“Being naked doesn’t bother me,” Keith says, which is true. Suddenly, though, he feels a little self-conscious, thinking of what Shiro might have seen and what he’s thinking. He grabs his shorts and slides into them again; they’re still a bit damp, but they’re made of quick-drying fabric and in this heat should be dry soon. 

“You’re, uh, becoming a regular forest man now,” Shiro says, overly cheerful. 

“Come on,” Keith says, “You’re out here for months on end all by your lonesome. You can’t tell me you don’t also go naked sometimes.” 

Shiro is entirely too silent. 

“Never have I ever been naked on the job,” Shiro announces into that silence. 

Keith snorts. “Come on, you big baby. I _dare_ you to go naked right now. You’re always complaining about the heat anyway. Let your bare ass feel the breeze.” 

“Ha, fine,” Shiro says— and that took hardly any convincing, in the end. Keith can’t help but feel a bit smug. “Just to see what all the fuss is about. Give me a second.” 

He goes silent after that, presumably to set his radio down and strip down. Keith rocks back and forth on his heels and then sits at the edge of the gangway, facing north. He won’t be able to see Shiro, but it’s the thought that counts. 

“There, naked,” Shiro announces.

Keith smiles, cheeks warm and body feeling all squirmy. “Congratulations. You’re a true mountain man now. Only took you ten years.” 

“Ten years and a bad influence,” Shiro says. 

“Just be careful or else you’ll get a very uncomfortable sunburn,” Keith answers, grinning. 

** **

**Day 30**

“You’re actually not here at all,” Keith considers, yawning. “You’re just a figment of my imagination. You’re out here because I needed you.”

“Wow, morbid,” Shiro chuckles. “How do I know _you’re_ not a figment of my imagination?” 

“Ooh, existential.” 

** **

**Day 34**

Keith’s not sure if he’d call himself _bored_ while out here. It’s true that the days tend to blur together, and his work tends to be monotonous. But there’s something reassuring in the familiarity. It helps, too, that Shiro’s always available to talk. Keith never would have guessed that he’d find comfort out here with someone else or even that he’d long to hear Shiro’s voice, of all things. He finds that he misses music, but there’s comfort in listening to the sounds of the forest instead, or the sweet cadence of Shiro’s voice. 

The air smells smoky today, although there’re no fires in Keith’s quadrant. Shiro says there’s the start of a fire further south and they’re getting the windfall. But there’s no denying now that it’s the season for it, with the hotter summer days and the dryer weather. 

“It kind of smells like a big campfire,” Keith says. The truth is, when he smells wood burning, it doesn’t make him think of forest fires or campfires, but instead reminds him of the smell of his dad’s hair after a long day at work. 

House fires and building fires smell different from forest fires, but it’s the act of destruction that reminds Keith of it. He never actually _saw_ his dad go running into a burning building, only ever the aftermath: the burning scent of his singed hair, burns and scars on his arms, his breathing problems due to stuffed-up lungs. 

It did not take Keith thirty-four days to know that _maybe_ doing a job that involves fire is a bad idea when trying to forget about his dad, but he’s more aware of it today. 

“I always liked the smell,” Shiro agrees. “It reminds me of home.” 

“Is San Francisco known for their campfires?” Keith asks.

Shiro chuckles. “I didn’t mean San Francisco.” 

An odd thought, Keith thinks, to see the wilderness as home. Keith smiles to himself, though, glancing over towards Shiro’s tower before shaking his head, fondly. If anybody could find home anywhere, it seems it’d be Shiro. 

“You really love it out here, huh?” 

“It’s… Hmmm.” Shiro’s quiet for a long moment, considering. Keith waits, giving him that time to collect his words. Finally, Shiro offers, “I know what to expect out here. It’s peaceful. It’s quiet. I feel like myself out here.” 

“Makes sense,” Keith says. “What about when it isn’t wildfire season? What do you do then?” 

“I still work for the forest service,” Shiro says. “Manning info booths for parks, trail restoration, that kinda stuff. I love it when I get to plant trees.” 

“Of course you do.” 

“What about you? What were you doing before this?” Shiro asks.

“I did some work for my Uncles. They own a garage, so I’d help them fix up cars and bikes. You know, hands-on stuff.” 

“Good with your hands, huh?” 

Keith laughs. “Better with bikes than customers, that’s for sure. Uncle Kolivan would have a fit every time I was the one to answer the phone. He says even Uncle Antok was better at it than me.” 

“I dunno, you and I talking is basically one big phone call,” Shiro says. “I think you’re doing just fine.” 

Keith shakes his head, fondly. “You’re not a customer. And you’re not a customer trying to pretend you know more about motorcycles than me.”

He can definitely hear the smile in Shiro’s voice. “So, you ride a motorcycle, huh?” 

“Sometimes,” Keith says. 

“You’ll have to give me a ride some time,” Shiro says, voice dropping just a little bit lower than before. Keith absolutely does not read into it. 

He tries very hard not to picture it— driving through the desert with Shiro pressed to his back, arms wrapped tight around Keith, his mouth pressed against his neck. He’d be able to show Shiro the landscape. He’d be the expert, tell him all the stories about saguaro at sunset, about the unique squeak of a gila woodpecker. He wants to watch Shiro sweat his way through a Phoenix summer and then whoop from behind Keith as they slam their way through the desert nights, Keith revving the engine of his bike and never stopping. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Keith says and has no idea what possesses him to say, “Play your cards right and maybe I’ll give you a ride. But only if you’re good.” 

“I promise to be good,” Shiro answers. 

** **

**Day 36**

Keith sighs and throws down his pencil for the third time in so many minutes and plucks up the radio from its cradle. He was supposed to be letting it charge, but he’s always been impatient. 

“Hey,” Keith says, staring out over the horizon, at Shiro’s lookout. “What do you look like?”

Shiro’s response takes a moment, but when it comes through, it’s hardly eloquent: “Huh?”

“I’m trying to draw you,” Keith says. “But I can’t really see you that well through the scope. So… what do you look like?”

He blushes a bit, staring down at the sketch pad on his desk. There’s no _reason_ he should be trying to draw Shiro and yet here he is. He’s always been better at observational drawing. Having a model, something to stare at. He’s not great at doodling or designing from memory or imagination. 

He doesn’t know why he’s itching to draw Shiro’s face, to put to paper what he sees in his mind. To put to paper what he really looks like. 

“I, um… you’re really trying to draw me?” Shiro asks.

“Is that okay?” Keith asks, suddenly feeling uncertain. “I can stop, if you want.” 

“No… No, it’s okay,” Shiro laughs. “I just… hm. I don’t know if I’ll be any good at describing myself.” 

“Tell me about your eyes,” Keith offers. 

He has the basic outline of someone. He’s only ever seen Shiro from far away. He has that basic shape down— wide shoulders, tall. It’s just a few basic shapes all cobbled together in smooth lines. 

“I’ve… uh. I’ve been told I have nice eyes,” Shiro says. “Pretty. Happy.” 

“Oh yeah?” Keith asks. He laughs. “Who told you that?”

“My mom, if you must know.” 

“A momma’s boy, huh?” Keith asks, as if he isn’t always one hundred percent prepared to do whatever his own mom asks of him. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Shiro says thoughtfully. “My parents are— well. They’re parents. I don’t think we were ever supposed to understand each other, but… you know. My mom likes my eyes. Probably because they look like hers.” 

“Are you calling your mom a narcissist?” 

“Maybe,” Shiro hedges. 

Keith hums to himself, sketching eyes. He’s sure they look nothing like Shiro’s, but he’s maybe just looking for an excuse to listen to his voice. It washes over him as he draws and he can’t help but smile, trying to picture what sort of nose shape Shiro would have. The shape of his smile. His mouth. How Keith’s hands might look slotting up against Shiro’s jaw. If his hair would be fine or thick. How it’d feel running through Keith’s fingers. If it’d be long enough for Keith to twist his fingers up and tug. 

“Is that all you’re going to ask me?” Shiro asks, laughing. 

Keith lets the sound of Shiro’s laugh wash over him. He’s blushing but he’s not bothered by it. Shiro can’t see him blushing, after all. So it’s fine. He closes his eyes and does _not_ think about what it’d feel like to have that laugh brushing over his skin, to feel the ghost of Shiro’s smile in physicality, not just in the timbre of his voice. 

He hates to admit just how quickly he’d set on fire just from one glance from Shiro. 

“And you called _me_ humble,” Keith mutters. “Go on. Describe yourself, Shiro. Are you handsome?”

Shiro coughs a little laugh. “I… Yeah. Yeah, people have called me handsome.” 

“People other than your mother?” 

“Yeah,” Shiro says and Keith can tell he’s grinning. “I’m, um… tall?” 

“I already knew that.” Keith taps his pencil against the page, down at the vague shapes that are almost Shiro, but nowhere near him. “How big are your hands?” 

“… Big?” 

Fuck. Keith shouldn’t have asked that. He glances down at his own hands and feels himself blush. He imagines large hands pinning his down, a powerful body arching over his shoulder and kissing his neck. He imagines someone’s fingers lacing with his, large and strong and callused. Fuck. 

“I, um… I mean, normal big? I haven’t ever heard any complaints about them?” Shiro says, but it’s more like a question. Keith blushes more, imaging big palms brushing down his chest, settling at his hips. 

“Okay,” he says in a quiet voice, his chest feeling all squirmy. “Um… thanks.” 

“Any time.” 

“So… any other distinct features I should know about?” Keith prompts. 

Shiro’s quiet for a beat too long. Then he says, “Not that I can think of.” 

Keith spends a few moments sketching. It’s less realistic now and more cartoonish. He gives Shiro big hands and immediately regrets it, but not enough to erase what he’s started. His eyes, though— Keith thinks they’re kind. He’s not sure. He’s not that good at drawing people, much less when free drawing like this. 

He sketches a figure, big hands covering his face save for a warm smile, the flash of teeth, a little dimple. He wonders if Shiro has dimples. 

“So what are you wearing?” Keith asks, sketching.

“Wow. At least buy me dinner first, Keith,” Shiro teases. 

Keith sputters and nearly drops his radio. “I meant—! Shut up!” 

Keith hears Shiro laughing. It floods Keith’s entire cabin. It’s one of his deeper laughs, genuine and heartfelt, coming up deep from his belly. It makes Keith feel like he’s about to float off into space. 

“You’re so cute,” he hears Shiro sigh and Keith wonders if he was meant to hear that or not. 

** **

**Day 37**

“It’s a pretty sunset tonight,” Keith says, quietly. He’s down in the canyon this evening, watching the surrounding rocks stain the colors of the sunset. He hadn’t meant to be down here so late, but he ended up getting distracted sketching the rock formations and picking salmon berries. 

“It is,” Shiro says. “Where are you? I don’t see you in your tower.” 

“Hiking,” Keith says. “I’m heading back now.” 

“Be careful. Last thing I want is for you to twist your ankle in the dark.” 

“Have some faith in me,” Keith jokes. 

“I do,” Shiro says, overly earnest; it makes Keith nearly stumble over his feet. “But be careful anyway. Think of my poor heart.” 

“You sound like an old man,” Keith says. “Don’t have a heart attack on me, old timer.” 

“I make no promises until I see you back in your tower,” Shiro answers. “There’s a storm that’s supposed to be coming in from the southwest tonight and you definitely don’t want to be caught in the canyon if it hits early.” 

“A storm? In summer?” Keith asks. “Won’t getting some rain be a good thing?” 

“It’s likely to be more thunder and lightning… Which is not as nice as rain.” 

“So what does that mean?”

“If it hits, it just means we’ll be busy. You might get to spot a fire.” 

“Got it. Heading back,” Keith says, chewing one last salmon berry before continuing his hike. “Guess a storm explains why the sunset’s so nice. Aren’t they supposed to look really good right before a storm?” 

“Out at sea, maybe. Not sure about the forest.” 

“I wish you could see it from down here, Shiro.” 

Keith could very well leave it at that. He could pack away his radio, scamper up the walls of the canyon, and get back to his tower for the night just in time to watch a storm sweep in. 

But something makes Keith pause, uncertain. He feels his nerves spark to life, some sort of adrenaline response. He and Shiro have been skirting this line, he thinks, and it’d be easy to keep doing it. But then, he thinks of the sketch he finished the other day, stared at this fabricated recreation of Shiro, and knew he was, maybe, pining just a little.

He also knows that Shiro would absolutely make a pine tree joke if he told him. And somehow, that’s reassuring. And enough to push him forward. 

He takes a breath and then says, quietly, “I bet you look beautiful in sunset.” 

He holds his breath, waiting. 

“You have no idea what I look like, Keith,” Shiro laughs, but there’s something soft and breathless in his voice. Message received, Keith thinks. Nothing earth-shaking. It’s easy. It’s simple. People flirt all the time and it’s _fine_. 

He lets out the breath he’s holding. “And whose fault is that? Learn to describe yourself better.” He breathes back in and insists: “I still bet it’s true.” 

His voice sounds just a bit too sweet, too honeyed. He isn’t sure if he’s doing it right. He isn’t sure if, now that he’s doing it, Shiro’s going to accept it. 

Shiro laughs again, quiet and silky over the radio wave. It makes Keith shiver.

And then, Shiro says, “Well… I bet you’re really pretty, too.” 

Keith feels his heart leap into his throat. He whispers, “Only pretty?”

“Beautiful,” Shiro corrects, hushed. The silence holds for a moment, purposeful and weighted. 

Keith laughs, his heart squeezing in his chest, and jokes, “But you have no idea what I look like, Shiro.” 

“I can tell,” Shiro murmurs and his voice alone is setting Keith on fire. There’s no tease in his voice now. Keith almost believes him when Shiro says: “You’re beautiful, Keith.” 

Maybe this isn’t the first time they’ve flirted, Keith realizes. Maybe this is just the first time that Keith’s let himself notice it. The knowledge burns through his veins. He’s addicted to the sound of Shiro’s voice, sounding like that— wants to fall asleep to the sound of it, wants to feel it on his skin. 

He itches all over, a desire to cross that ravine and find Shiro. 

“Wow,” Keith whispers instead. “You’ll make a guy blush.” 

“That’s what I’m aiming for,” Shiro admits and the words make Keith smile. 

** **

**Day 38**

The storm does indeed hit in the night. There isn’t much rain but the sky dances with lightning, jumping between clouds. Keith stays up watching it. Each flash of lightning illuminates his cabin and, several seconds later, fills the air with the sound of rumbling thunder. 

It’s oddly comforting in a way that Keith can’t explain. There’s a real possibility of lightning strikes, of course— their towers are a combo of metal and wood, and high up above many of the trees— but Shiro assures him that they’re designed to take the hits. Better a tower than a dry and brittle tree, after all. 

Keith stays up well past midnight, just watching the storm. He’d be content to sit in silence, lost to his own thoughts, except he can see one lone light in Shiro’s tower, a lantern he’s likely reading by. 

Keith hits the call button a few times, just so Shiro will hear the static and not startle by Keith’s sudden voice. “… You should get some rest, Shiro.” 

“Keith,” Shiro murmurs in response and it’s oddly comforting. His voice is raspy, as if he’s tired, but hasn’t quite managed to sleep yet. “I know. I just…” 

“You’re not afraid of lightning, are you?” Keith asks. 

“No, nothing like that,” Shiro chuckles, quiet and serene. “I… don’t always sleep well in general. Nightmares and all that.” 

“Really?” Keith frowns. He can’t imagine what sort of nightmares Shiro would get. “Do you need to talk about it?”

“Nah. It’s old news,” Shiro dismisses. “I’ve had them for years.” 

Keith hums into the radio and lets the line go quiet. He pulls his knees to his chest and just leans into himself, watching the lightning dance across the sky. His eyes keep glancing back towards Shiro’s tower, that one lonely light. 

There’s still so much he doesn’t know about Shiro. He wonders if Shiro feels that about Keith. But then, there are so many days when Keith is just sick of himself. He can’t imagine that he’d be anything Shiro would want to get to know outside the isolation of a fire watch job. 

“Hey, Keith?” Shiro asks, quietly. Then, even quieter adds, “No, never mind. It’s stupid.”

“Nothing you say could ever be stupid, Shiro,” Keith’s quick to assure him. He twists around so he can lean his forehead against the cool glass of the window, hoping that maybe, somehow, Shiro will feel that Keith is looking at him. “Tell me?” 

“I’m just… I was thinking that I’m really glad you’re here,” Shiro says. 

Keith’s not sure how that’s stupid, but he isn’t about to question it. He feels warm all over when he answers, “Me too, Shiro.” 

** **

**Day 39**

There’s a tendril of smoke curling in the air the morning after the storm passes. Lightning struck during the night and now there’s a little fire burning away deep in the forest. 

“Should I go and get eyes on it?” Keith asks Shiro, peering down at his map tacked to the table in the center of his tower. “I think it has to be a fire. I haven’t seen campers for weeks and that’s not exactly the best location to set up a tent and campfire.” 

“It’s likely a fire,” Shiro agrees. “It’s alright. Just keep an eye on it.” 

Keith sighs and drops into his chair. He wouldn’t mind the hike, but the fire looks a good five miles east and he wasn’t exactly in the mood for a ten-mile hike today. 

-

Three hours later and the fire’s growing. 

Keith hears Shiro sigh over the radio. “I’ll call it in. They’ll send in a crew for suppression, but I bet we’ll be stuck with her for the rest of the summer.” 

Keith hums, watching the waves of smoke rising above the trees. The air’s thick with the smell of burning vegetation. 

“Burn baby, burn?” Keith asks just to spark a laugh from Shiro. He smiles and closes his eyes as Shiro does, indeed, laugh gently in his ear. He luxuriates in the sound— finds comfort in it, rather than think about Phoenix. 

“She doesn’t have a name yet.”

“You get to name them?” Keith asks.

“Usually,” Shiro answers. “Sometimes they’ll rename them if they get really big. If they’re big enough to make national news, my names are definitely tossed out.” 

“Wow,” Keith says. 

“I usually try to think of something funny or a little risqué,” Shiro offers. “But why don’t you do the honors?”

“Me?”

“Sure,” Shiro says. “Think of a good name.” 

Keith laughs but then, a second later, realizes that Shiro’s serious. Keith fiddles with a piece of his hair. It’s gotten longer in the time since he’s been here, almost long enough to tie back in a ponytail. He bites his lip, trying to think of something funny or risqué and coming up with nothing. 

“Uhhhh… Shiro’s a nice name.”

“Haha, no, not like that!” Shiro protests. 

Keith laughs, “Ha… I was kidding.”

“No you weren’t.” And damn it, Keith thinks, is he really getting to be that much easier to read? He isn’t sure. Maybe Shiro’s just that good. Shiro sighs, “But… you’re sweet. We really can’t call it the Shiro Fire, though.”

“Takashi Fire,” Keith offers.

“Keith Fire,” Shiro shoots back. “Set me on fire, Keith.” 

Keith doesn’t have it in him to respond back, to tease. If given the chance, he would. If given the chance, he’d consume Shiro. 

-

They name it the Thunderstorm Darkness Fire instead at Keith’s insistence. Not exactly funny or risqué, but it serves its purpose and Shiro thinks it’s cool. So that’s enough for Keith. 

** **

**Day 40**

“Looking at the fire?” Shiro asks, quietly, his voice crackling over the radio, so smooth and so intimate that it sounds like it’s ringing in Keith’s ear instead. “It’s pretty at night. During the day, you can only really see smoke. But at night…”

“Yeah,” Keith answers, looking at the flickering light of Shiro’s tower in the distance before looking back at the fire. He supposes there’s some beauty in the fire, all the different colors glowing in the lack of light. 

It’s grown since yesterday, smoldering through the trees. Keith never realized how slowly a forest fire can move, even when it’s consuming brittle, dried-out trees. He always had the image of a _wildfire._ But in the end, it’s a lot like a house fire; slow to build but once out of control, impossible to stop. 

“When’s the suppression crew coming out?” Keith asks. 

“Tomorrow, I think. They’ll fly the firefighters in. Let them show off a bit. Burn some fire lines down near the river,” Shiro says. “You could go down and greet them. Watch some hunky guys at work.” 

“Oh, you think my type is a hunky guy?” Keith asks. 

“You tell me.” 

“Ha,” Keith snorts. “Like you can even tell what firefighters look like when they’re in uniform, anyway. That bulk could be muscles or jacket. Lust for firefighters is weird.” 

“Oh yeah? Who do you lust after, then?” Shiro asks. 

_Employees of the United States Forest Service, apparently,_ Keith thinks, dismally. 

He cracks open a beer and takes a long sip. It’s his second one tonight. Earlier, the two of them had played another game of Never Have I Ever but it’s petered off now. Keith’s grateful for it; he’s been decidedly avoiding offering sexual Never Have I Evers. But as a result, he’s been getting low on things he’s never done. It’s just as well. He’s not playing a game— he’s watching the fire and not thinking about Shiro and _his_ potentially sexual Never Have I Evers. 

The fire is mostly orange, licks of red. It flickers through the boughs of the trees in the distance. It really is beautiful from far away. 

“I dunno,” Keith says instead in answer to Shiro’s question. “Men. In general.” 

Shiro laughs. “Just men in general? Now I don’t feel special.” 

Keith blushes. He wonders how much Shiro’s been able to read in Keith’s words. In the things he doesn’t say. The sound of his voice. His silences. Shiro _is_ special, is the depressing truth of it. 

He thinks of being down in the canyon, calling Shiro beautiful. He thinks, maybe, he can be brave. He doesn’t always have to be such a coward. 

“You should feel special,” Keith says. He takes a breath and then just goes for it: “I like your voice.” 

Keith’s heart pounds in his chest. There’s silence for a moment, long enough that Keith starts to worry that he’s said the wrong thing. It’s so difficult to do this, to hear Shiro’s voice and have no body language to associate with it. To not be able to see him. To touch him. 

But then, quietly, Shiro answers, “I like your voice, too.” 

“Yeah?” Keith asks, relief flooding through him.

“I like the way it sounds. I like hearing it when I wake up in the morning,” Shiro admits. There’s something in his voice, something Keith hasn’t heard before. Tentative, but inching closer. 

Keith’s nodding, but he’s used to talking to Shiro enough now that he knows to make a sound of affirmation. He presses the button down and hums into the radio, wonders if Shiro shivers when he hears it, just like Keith always does whenever Shiro makes a quiet noise. 

Keith’s shaking like a leaf. He’s about to get consumed by the fire. His eyes are on the fire in the distance, watching it burn. He feels like he might burn, too. 

“I don’t talk to the other lookouts as much as I talk to you. Not like this,” Shiro says, voice so quiet, so gentle. 

“I don’t talk to anyone the way I talk to you,” Keith answers. “Anywhere.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Keith sucks in a deep breath. “Obviously. Shiro…” 

He trails off, helplessly. Unsure what to say next. Unsure how to bridge that gap between him and Shiro. How desperately, completely does he wish he were miles away, in Shiro’s tower. He wishes it were so easy to cross the ravine between them, to put face to the voice he listens to every day, to put movement to his tone. 

Softly, Shiro offers, “I’m glad you’re here, Keith.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’m not… crazy, right? We’re having a good time together.” There’s something warm and secret in Shiro’s tone. It sparks a hope in Keith’s gut. 

Keith snorts a faint laugh before answering, his voice soft. “Yeah. We are.” 

They fall into silence again. This far away from the fire, Keith can’t possibly hear the crackling of flames, the breaking of branches. But he thinks he hears it, anyway. He clings to the sound because otherwise the silence is just too much. He’s all alone in this stupid tower. 

“I wish I was over there,” Shiro says after the silence has stretched so long, so cosmic, that Keith’s afraid it’ll never break again. 

Keith’s heart leaps. He whispers, “I wish you were, too.”

“We could sit outside together.” 

“Watch the fire,” Keith agrees. 

“Yeah.” He thinks he hears Shiro shifting on the other end of the line. His voice sounds so much closer now, deep and gravelly. “We could talk, without these radios. We could…” He lets out a breath, something rumbly and sincere, something that’s almost a laugh but comes out far deeper, “… You know.”

Keith’s eyes widen, his heart thumping in his chest. He bites his lip and holds back a little sound that suggestion pulls from him, head flooding with all the images that conjures up. No, he can’t be misreading _that_

“What could we do?” Keith asks. He wants to hear it. He can’t keep the small smile from quirking his lips up. Shiro’s voice surrounds him, tingling over his body. 

There’s no mistaking the drop in Shiro’s voice when he says, low and husky, “Let me tell you.” 

“Yeah,” Keith whispers, voice scratched-out. His fingers itch to touch. He hopes Shiro hears the invitation in his voice. “Tell me, Shiro.” 

“I’d touch you,” Shiro says, and Keith wants to laugh and cry at once— of course, of course Shiro would be awful at describing, but _God_ does he want it. It’s just one sentence and it’s perfect. Keith nearly cries in relief to hear the confirmation. 

“Shiro,” Keith whispers, something like a plea. He wants Shiro touching him. He wants him here. He wants to feel Shiro’s lips against his ear as he whispers his name. He _wants_. “What else?”

“Kiss you,” Shiro says and he sounds breathless. Keith can hear the small intake of his breath, realizes that he must be holding it. Waiting. 

“Please,” Keith whimpers. The heat that floods through him is brighter than any wildfire. It’s all-consuming. That little spark that’s been smoldering inside him for over a month bursts to life now. He feels the desire pulse through him. His hand drops to his belly, feeling the rise and fall to his breath, and drifts lower, barely touching himself. 

It’s absurd that such lack of words could get such a reaction from Keith and yet here he is. He’s already half-hard just from the sound of Shiro’s voice. He feels drunk on it. Maybe that’s just his state of being now— maybe he was always going to be a little drunk off Shiro’s voice. 

“I’d kiss you slow,” Shiro murmurs. “Take my time with you. I want— I want to make it good.” 

Keith’s embarrassed by the punched-out sound he makes, but only a little. He closes his eyes, trying to picture it. Shiro’s hands running over him. His breath in his ear. The shape of his smile. How it’d feel to kiss him, to feel the press of Shiro’s mouth against his. 

Shiro’s patient. He’d take his time. He’d pull every possible sound from Keith’s throat just with his mouth, his teeth, his tongue. He’d hold Keith down and steal his breath. He’d sweep in closer to him until Keith was breathless. He’d smile at Keith, helplessly, and drag his teeth over Keith’s bottom lip. 

God, Keith wants it. 

“You would,” Keith promises, his voice so breathless. “Shiro— I want—” 

“What do you want?” Shiro whispers. “Tell me.” 

“Not just kissing,” Keith murmurs. 

He hears Shiro’s sharp breath. “Keith.” 

Keith takes a breath and holds, just for a moment. And then he pushes past the hesitation in his gut. He always was one to dive right in, after all. Might as well escalate. 

“Want you to fuck my face,” Keith says, brazen. He smiles a little when he hears Shiro’s breath come out as a choked-off gasp, delights in hearing it taper off into a moan. He did that. “Wanna suck your dick.” 

“ _Fuck,_ ” Shiro groans into the radio. Keith’s hips twitch up and he presses his hand more firmly against himself, feeling the swell of his cock. He’s hard now. Expectation alone’s done that, the thrilling thought of Shiro cupping the back of his head and forcing him down, making him choke. 

But no, Shiro would be gentle. He’d cradle Keith’s jaw as Keith opened up to him. He’d thumb at Keith’s mouth asking for invitation, never invading. He’d hook his thumb into Keith’s mouth and guide him open. He’d slide into Keith’s willing mouth and tremble, praising Keith. Keith would lay worship to Shiro with his tongue. Make him cry out his name. Make him come. 

Keith fumbles with his pants, shimmying them off his hips while refusing to let go of the radio. He’s pressed the button down. He wonders if Shiro can hear Keith’s movements, wonders if he’s delighting in the little sounds, visualizing what he’d do to Keith, what he wants to do to Keith. 

“Bet you taste good,” Keith murmurs, curling his hand around his cock, right at the base. It isn’t enough, not nearly enough friction and pressure, but it’ll have to do. His hand is small. Shiro’s would be bigger, he thinks. Shiro would hold him in hand easily, would stroke him to full hardness in just a few short tugs. He’d grin at Keith, eyes glittering, triumphant. He’d be smug over every sound Keith makes. 

“ _Keith._ ”

“Bet you’d feel so good,” Keith whispers. “Bet I’d make you feel even better.” 

“Yeah. Yeah—” 

Keith closes his eyes, just letting the sound of Shiro’s voice wash over him as he strokes himself. Shiro said he’d kiss him slow. He imagines, infinitely patient as Shiro is, he’d go slow here, too. He’d drag his fingers along the underside of Keith’s cock just to make him cry out. He’d twist his palm along the underside of his cock, thumbing at his slit. He’d get him wet and sloppy just from his hand. He’d let Keith come just from his hand and thrill at that, too. He’d murmur praises into Keith’s ear, grinning. He’d feed his fingers into Keith’s mouth and let Keith suck him clean. 

Keith bucks his hips up, fucking into his fist. He’s panting into the radio and he doesn’t care. He hopes Shiro can hear him. 

“Keith,” Shiro whines and yes, he must hear him. When Keith focuses, he can hear Shiro, too, can hear the slick sounds of a body moving, the rumple of clothes. Shiro’s breathless, his voice thready and sweet. “Keith, please.”

“You beg so nicely,” Keith hums and squeezes himself at the base. “Bet you look amazing, sprawled out on a bed, Shiro.” 

“Oh,” Shiro moans. 

“Bet you look even better when I’m riding you,” Keith says, bold, just to hear Shiro’s shocked and pleased gasp. The slick sounds increase and Keith imagines Shiro’s fucking his hand desperately, biting his lip hard. His sounds are muffled but no less sweet in Keith’s ear. 

Keith tries to picture that, too— Shiro sprawled out under him as Keith rides him, biting his lip to keep from crying out, his hands flexing and fitting so perfectly over Keith’s hips. He’d guide him down, he’d grind Keith down on his cock. It’d feel so good. 

But first, he’d spend ages opening Keith up. Keith sucks two fingers into his mouth just to imagine it, knows he won’t have the patience now to finger himself open. It won’t be like how Shiro would do it. Shiro would go so slow. He’d be painfully slow, infinitely sweet. He’d treat him so kindly. 

“Yeah, Keith,” Shiro murmurs and his voice tingles up Keith’s spine, makes him arch and groans as he rocks into his hand. It’s not enough. It’s not nearly enough. “Keith, you’d look so good. I’d make sure you’ve never felt so good.” 

Keith’s addicted to Shiro’s panting breaths. He groans, dropping his hand from his mouth and twisting it over his cock instead. “Your— your hands on me—” 

“Yes,” Shiro agrees.

“Your mouth,” Keith groans.

“Yeah,” Shiro pants. 

Keith’s making a mess and he doesn’t care. His precome slicks over his fingers and he uses it to sweep down his cock in a smoother glide. He squeezes himself, twists his hand, strokes. Tries to imagine that it’s Shiro there beside him and not just his hand in a lonely wilderness. He imagines that instead of a radio between them, it’s Shiro’s mouth clamped against Keith’s neck, bruising him, panting his name, worshiping him. He’d have marks on his neck because of Shiro and Keith would thumb over them in the morning, spooning up to Shiro in their too-small bed. 

“Want you to pin me down,” Shiro confesses in his ear and Keith cries out weakly, trying to get a better angle, trying to fuck into his hand and wishing he had something else, wishes he had something to sink onto, wishes he had lube to slick his fingers up and feel himself inside. 

“I’d do it.”

“Want to feel you all over me,” Shiro continues. “It’s good, it’d be so good— you’d touch me. You’d kiss me. I’d—” 

“Tell me,” Keith commands. 

“I’d never let you go,” Shiro whispers and somehow it’s too much. Keith trembles all over, his body singing, and he cries out as he feels the pleasure building in his stomach. “I’d— I’d kiss you.”

“Such a gentleman,” Keith hums.

“I’d fuck you,” Shiro corrects, almost laughing.

“That’s better.” 

Keith strokes himself harder, faster. He’s practically sobbing with a desire for release— but it’s never going to be enough, not until Shiro’s hands are on him, his mouth. His smile. 

“Never stop holding you,” Shiro pants. 

“Don’t,” Keith whispers. “Don’t let me go. Make me feel good, Shiro.”

“Yeah,” Shiro promises, his voice silky and hitched. He’s so breathless, panting in Keith’s ear. “I’d let you fuck my mouth, too, Keith. I’d take you all the way.” 

“Fuck!” 

“Slick you up good,” Shiro murmurs. “Choke on you. Grab those hips and keep you there. You could pull my hair. I’d want you to.”

Keith whimpers, fucking his fist. “I would,” he whispers, begs, praises, “I would, I would—” 

He hears Shiro groan. He wonders if he’s coming. He wonders what his face looks like when he comes. It’s enough to get him to leap over that edge, falling and falling. He cries out as he comes, his fingers slicking up with his release. He’s making a mess, come across his belly, and it doesn’t matter. He wants Shiro to lick him clean. He wants to bury his tongue in Shiro’s mouth and lick away all his breath. 

He hears Shiro come. He thinks that’s what it must be, thinks that’s what it means that his breath hitches and he groans, low and pleased, whispering Keith’s name in a desperate little whimper. Keith wants to know what Shiro looks like when he comes. 

God. He just wants to hold Shiro. 

He gulps down breath, staring up at the ceiling of his tower and wishing he was in Shiro’s bed. 

“Keith, are you there?” Shiro whispers in his ear. 

“Yeah. I’m here.” Keith sucks in a deep breath and murmurs, “Did you finish?” 

“Yeah,” Shiro whispers. “Keith…” 

“I wish I was there,” Keith whispers.

“Me too.” 

Keith closes his eyes. 

** **

**Day 41**

The next morning, Keith opens his eyes and stares out the window for a long, dragging moment. There’s a terror coiled up in his belly. Somehow, someway, he’s fucked this all up. He’s going to pick up that radio and Shiro’s going to take everything back. He’s never going to want to speak to Keith again. He’ll be, finally, truly alone. 

The air is thick with smoke. The fire’s grown in the night. 

He lies there for too long, long past the time he’s been traditionally waking up and calling Shiro. That must be why it’s Shiro who makes the radio crackle to life next to him. 

“Keith?” Shiro asks, his voice quiet. “Are you awake?” 

Keith squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself, and then picks the radio up. “Yeah. I’m awake.” 

Silence lapses between them, like a slowly cresting windstorm, blowing everything else away. Keith swallows around unspoken words and takes a deep breath. 

Keith’d never felt so electrified before as he did last night, brought alive even just from his own touch of his hand. Shiro did that for him. Shiro brought him to that edge. He hates to think that this is the end, somehow. That he’s ruined it. That he’s not worth it. 

“I have to be honest,” Shiro confesses, quietly, and Keith braces himself, waiting for that hammer to fall. “I’m like two seconds away from just hiking down to you.” 

“O- oh!” Keith gasps before he can stop himself. The sudden flood of relief is so intense it’s almost dizzying. His smile bursts over his face before he can stop it. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Shiro answers. And waits. 

“I thought the same thing last night,” Keith admits, grinning, feeling hysterical. “I was going to try to cross that fucking ravine in the dark.” 

“Really?” Shiro asks and he sounds so damn hopeful and relieved, too, that for the first time Keith realizes that Shiro must be feeling the same anxiety as Keith. Keith imagines Shiro pacing in his tower, worrying when Keith didn’t call. 

“Yeah,” Keith insists. “Fuck, Shiro. You drive me crazy.” 

“You too, Keith. God... you’re so… I can’t stop thinking about you,” Shiro admits. 

“So— so don’t. Don’t stop thinking about me,” Keith murmurs. 

Shiro laughs and he sounds just as relieved, just as punched-out as Keith feels. It’s a nice feeling, really, to think he isn’t actually alone in this. He might be surrounded by nothing but wilderness and the start of a forest fire, but he’s not alone. Shiro is here. Shiro’s feeling the same way he is. 

His heart feels all twisted up in his chest. He thinks, for a blind moment, that he’s happy for the first time in months. 

“So…” Shiro asks, something shy lacing his voice. “What would you do to me if you really hiked up here?” 

“Oh,” Keith whispers, his voice dropping into a purr as he tells Shiro exactly what. 

** **

**Day 43**

“You got a face tattoo and you’re too embarrassed to let anyone see you like that,” Shiro says as greeting. 

“The real question is… what’s the tattoo of?” Keith asks, grinning. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Shiro sighs, moony and ridiculous, “I’d still like you.”

Keith’s embarrassed by how much that makes him blush. 

** **

**Day 46**

“If this fire grows any more, we might get evacuated,” Shiro says, tentatively, during a burning, smoky morning. They’re both watching the fire in the distance. It’s definitely growing, swelling between the trees. The firefighters have burned lines through the forest, following waterways and riverbeds, but that hasn’t stopped the fire, only slowed it down. 

“What does that mean if that happens?” Keith asks, watching a tree fall in the distance, succumbing to fire. 

“Means you’ll have to hike to an evacuation point. We’ll get airlifted out of here,” Shiro explains. “It’s standard stuff. Happens almost every summer now to at least one of the lookouts.” 

“Is our— are we—” Keith fumbles. He tries to imagine hiking to an evacuation point and seeing Shiro there. He imagines his first meeting with Shiro being in the midst of an evacuation, ducking away from a fire. He doesn’t like to think of Shiro within the circle of a forest fire, doesn’t want to think of him with smoke in his lungs and ash on his cheek. 

“You’ll have to hike south,” Shiro explains. “Meet up with researchers down by the Altea River. Mine’s just a bit north of my tower.” 

“Oh,” Keith says, relieved. That wouldn’t be their first meeting, then. 

-

“When… when this is all over,” Shiro says, later that day, voice shy. “You— you want to meet, right?” 

“Of course,” Keith says, puzzling over the question. He can’t place Shiro’s tone— how quiet he sounds, different from his usual thoughtfulness. 

The truth is, he’s terrified of the thought of meeting. Terrified not of Shiro, but of Shiro laying eyes on Keith and deciding he was mistaken, in the end. That this was all a terrible mistake. That he doesn’t like Keith anymore, doesn’t even want to be friends. Or, worse, that despite them both wanting it, the lack of distance between them will make real connection impossible. 

“Me too,” Shiro murmurs, and pauses. Keith thinks he’s going to say more, but nothing comes. 

Keith is terrified to think that maybe Shiro is lying. 

** **

**Day 49**

“Never have I ever…” Keith pauses, partly for dramatic effect and partly because he’s trying not to laugh, “Fucked a former boy scout.” 

“Stop!” Shiro laughs. “Also, I hate to tell you, but if we count the radio sex, then you have. _Several times_ …”

“God, don’t call it ‘radio sex,’” Keith whines. He’s the one who brought it up, though; he only has himself to blame. He blushes. “Do _you_ count it?” 

“I do,” Shiro says. “Penalty drink for lying about something you’ve never done, Keith.” 

Keith laughs and chugs one of the last cans of his bribery beer. “Fine,” he says, once he comes up for air, wiping his mouth. “Never have I ever left the country.” 

“You dirty cheater,” Shiro growls but doesn’t sound the least bit angry. “You know I have family in Japan.” 

“Sure do, Shirogane. Drink.” He listens for the sound of Shiro taking a deep gulp and grins. 

“Okay. Never have I ever…” Shiro begins and trails off, laughing. It’s a soft, breathy sound, embarrassed and gentle. “Never have I ever felt so happy as I do right now.” 

Keith’s heart springs up into his throat. “ _Shiro._ ” 

Shiro laughs. 

Keith blames the smoke in the air and the beer in his system for feeling a little stingy in his eyes. “You absolute sap,” he breathes out. “You did not just say that.” 

“I mean it, though,” Shiro answers. “N- never have I ever felt so understood by someone.” 

“Shiro,” Keith says again, smiling helplessly. “Are you drunk?” 

“Maybe a little,” Shiro confesses. “But I still mean it.” 

“Well,” Keith murmurs, ducking his head. “I’m— I’m not going to be able to drink, either.” 

“Keith,” Shiro breathes and Keith closes his eyes to the sound, letting it wash over him. He feels all warm and gooey inside, all the way down to his curling toes. 

He didn’t think it was possible to ever feel this way. He didn’t know if he could feel this way about anyone. 

“Hey, Keith,” Shiro murmurs. His voice is all silky, fuzzy and soft with alcohol. “I bet you’re… so pretty. Really pretty.” 

“How do you figure?” Keith asks, voice pitched low.

“I can tell,” Shiro sighs. “Wish I could see you better through the binoculars. Wish I… could touch you.” 

“Shiro,” Keith whispers.

“Sorry. Is that too much?” Even drunk, of course Shiro is a gentleman. Keith’s stomach feels all squirmy. It’s barely the worst thing Shiro’s said to him over radio, and definitely not even in the ballpark of the dirtiest. It’s sweet that he asks. Keith feels all gooey on the inside. 

“No,” Keith answers, voice quiet. “I wish I could touch you, too, Shiro.” 

“Wanna hold you,” Shiro murmurs. Fuck, he’s definitely drunk. “Wanna call you baby.” 

“Do it,” Keith orders, immediate, fire igniting in his veins. “Call me that.” 

“Baby,” Shiro answers, voice flooded with warmth and relief. “Baby…” 

Keith hiccups a little laugh. “Never have I ever been called ‘baby’ by someone.” 

“Never have I ever wanted to call someone ‘baby,’” Shiro echoes. 

** **

**Day 50**

The air is so full of smoke that it’s difficult to breathe. It reminds Keith too much of hospital beds and burning buildings. He doesn’t want to think about it, but the ash in the air demands it. He can’t avoid it. His heart beats all day, heightened, although Keith can’t pinpoint any specific, immediate threat. 

Somehow, it isn’t the fire that feels threatening. It’s just present, a staple of his summer. It’s out there, burning. But it isn’t coming after him. It isn’t haunting him. 

“Do I still get paid for the whole summer even if we get evacuated?” Keith asks, watching ash float through the air.

“Oh, sure. Hazard pay and all that.” 

“Okay,” Keith says. 

Keith tosses a stone into the lake. He wonders what sort of annoying habits Shiro might have— if they’re going to be compatible at all, when they meet in person. Maybe Shiro will be disappointed. Maybe Shiro will—

** **

**Day 52**

“Morning, babe,” Shiro says, voice honey-warm and sweet in Keith’s ear. 

Keith sighs, blinking his eyes open and murmurs, “Morning, Shiro.” 

“What’s on the agenda today for the most beautiful man in the forest?” Shiro asks and Keith can hear that grin. 

There’s nothing romantic about his true answer: safely disposing of his grey water and hiking down to the river to refill his cistern. He can’t think of a way to make that sound sexy, though. 

Keith snorts, instead. “You are _so_ embarrassing.” 

** **

**Day 55**

“I just got off the horn with the higher-ups. They’re monitoring the fire.” 

“And?” Keith asks. Shiro sounds so serious. He holds his breath. 

“And if it doesn’t slow down, we’re getting evacuated in a few days. You might want to start packing up your things.” 

-

Despite the gloaming of smoke in the air and the decreasing visibility, Keith hikes down to the river as he does every week to wash his clothes. He unlocks the cache box on the way and drops a weird-looking rock in just because he can. 

He thinks about Shiro as he washes his clothes, as he dumps his feet into the frigid water to soothe his aching ankles. 

Somehow, he’s less afraid of the forest fire all around them. He’s more afraid of meeting Shiro and disappointing him. 

** **

**Day 56**

Keith swings his legs over the edge of his gangway, kicking the air. He’s been quiet for most of the day. He fiddles with his radio. He hasn’t spoken to Shiro much and he knows Shiro’s worrying about it, can hear it in his tone whenever he contacts Keith. 

He wonders if Shiro can see him, looking through the binoculars. The visibility’s so shit now, Keith can barely make out Shiro’s tower even on sunny days. The air’s so thick with smoke and ash, a smoldering fire between him and Shiro. 

Keith takes a deep breath. They’ll get evacuated any day now. He’ll be meeting Shiro soon. He can’t put this off any longer and he knows it, but it’s difficult. It’s difficult to push past the smoke in his lungs. It’s difficult to fight past what’s been haunting him. 

“The reason I’m here,” he says into the radio and drops his hand away, letting the radio rest in his lap. He waits.

“Keith?” Shiro prompts, after a minute of silence. He’s so patient. He’s so good. 

Shiro deserves better than Keith, Keith thinks. He isn’t selfless enough to break up with Shiro before they’ve even begun, but he feels it so snugly in his bones. Maybe it’s why he’s testing him now. Maybe it’s why he’s throwing the ugliest part of himself out into the open. 

Might as well air it out before the fire consumes everything. Before he can’t go back again. 

“My dad was a firefighter,” Keith says and then flinches. “Is. He _is_ a firefighter. Fuck. Fuck _me._ ” 

He needs to stop talking about his dad like this. Needs to stop thinking like his dad is dead. He’s _not_. 

“Keith?” 

“Sorry,” Keith mutters, voice threadbare. 

“I… figured there was some drama there. I mean, whenever parents came up… you shut down,” Shiro confesses. “You don’t have to talk to me about anything you don’t want to, you know that right?” 

“I know,” Keith says. Shiro’s never pushed him for anything. It’s damnably kind. 

“I figured it… wasn’t something you wanted to talk about.” 

“Yeah,” Keith confesses. 

He’s a coward. He’s been a coward this entire summer. He closes his eyes and steadies himself. He breathes out, letting the air pour out of him, emptying him. He’s a wasteland after a fire. He’s nothing by floating, flitting smoke. 

“My dad… he’s a firefighter,” Keith says. “Last year, there was a really bad accident. He almost died. He was… I don’t know. He was in a coma for months. I had no idea if he was going to get better or not.” 

“Fuck, baby, I’m sorry,” Shiro says. 

Keith nods. He never would have thought that being called ‘baby’ would be so damn centering, so reassuring. And yet here he is, longing for the smooth honey of Shiro’s voice washing over him, soothing him, reassuring him. He wants to be held in Shiro’s arms. 

“Thanks, Shiro.” He sighs. “Anyway, I… I mean, I didn’t come out here to find myself or whatever shit. I— I ran away.” 

“Keith,” Shiro starts.

“No, please,” Keith interrupts. “Let me get this out. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Shiro answers. 

“Around the time my dad fell into his coma, my mom showed up in my life again. She… ugh. This is hard to explain. She was basically an ambassador and got locked down in another country for a few years. She was around when I was a kid, but I hadn’t seen her for a while. And I— I really love my parents, don’t get me wrong.” 

He scrubs a hand through his hair. 

“Just… for so long it was just me and my dad. And then it was just me and my mom, waiting for Dad to wake up. It took adjusting. And then my dad woke up!” 

“Keith, that’s good,” Shiro says. Keith doesn’t mind the interruption.

Keith nods, his voice getting all watery. “It’s fucking amazing. He was alive. He’s making a full recovery. He’s _alive._ And I’m out here.” 

Shiro’s quiet, not interrupting Keith this time. Keith wishes he could see Shiro’s face, see what his expression is. At the same time, he’s terrified of what he’ll see. Disgust, maybe. Disappointment. He can’t stand the thought of disappointing Shiro and he wonders when that came to be, when he started valuing Shiro’s words and thoughts of him so deeply. 

“And now, suddenly, it was the three of us and I felt— fucking stupid. It’s so fucking stupid.” He scrubs at his eyes, hiccupping. 

“Tell me,” Shiro insists. “Baby, it’s okay.” 

Keith squeezes his eyes shut. “I felt like I didn’t even belong there anymore. Like they didn’t need me.” He sighs. “My dad suggested that— that I needed a change of scenery, needed to figure out what I wanted to do. He didn’t want me hovering. He had that enough with Mom, I guess.” Keith sucks in a breath. “And I came out here, but I _should_ be fucking home taking care of him!”

“Keith,” Shiro says, gently. 

“I know it’s just… I know they aren’t pushing me away or anything. I know it’s in my head. I just…” 

“You’re afraid of them leaving you,” Shiro says, so damnably understanding. 

“Yeah,” Keith hiccups, the tears prickling his eyes. He feels like he’s about to start sobbing. He hates that it unravels his voice, shaky and quiet. Of course it’s the only thing Shiro will pick up on. “Yeah, I…” 

“Oh, Keith,” Shiro whispers. 

Keith squeezes his eyes shut and feels two tears slide down his cheeks. “Fuck.” 

“Oh, Keith,” Shiro whispers again and it’s not pitying but heartbroken on his behalf. “Babe. Sweetheart, I wish I was there. I wish I could hold you.”

“Yeah, me too,” Keith confesses and flushes. He’s never felt this way about anyone. He usually hates hugs. All he wants now, though, is to feel Shiro’s arms around him. He scrubs his hands over his eyes, trying to clear away the tears, but they won’t stop fuzzing out his vision. “Fuck me.” 

“It’s okay,” Shiro says. 

“I’m a fucking idiot,” Keith mutters. “What kind of bullshit shitty son runs away like this?” 

“Keith,” Shiro murmurs and Keith’s briefly terrified that Shiro’s going to tell him he did nothing wrong, that he’s a good son, or any manner of reassurance that’ll only ever be a platitude, that’ll sound false and saccharine even in Shiro’s voice. 

Keith sniffles and hates himself for it.

But Shiro murmurs, “You’re okay, baby. They’ll understand.” 

Keith shakes his head. His lungs are full of smoke. He’s never going to be able to breathe properly again. “I felt… so fucking useless. I sat around all day worried he was going to die. And then he didn’t, and I was so happy and then… I just ran out here. I’m the one acting like I almost died. The fuck is wrong with me?” 

“Nothing,” Shiro answers, immediate. “Anyone would be overwhelmed by that.” 

“I came out here to be by myself. I— I don’t know. But then you were out here and I—” He sucks in a shaky breath, trying to keep his voice from wavering too much and absolutely failing. “What if we meet at the end of this summer and you— you regret—” 

“Keith!” Shiro protests. 

“Fuck, I know, I know… I just. What if I’m not what you expect?” 

“You don’t think I worry about that, too?” Shiro murmurs. “That I’m not going to be what you expect? That I’m going to disappoint you somehow?” 

“How could you?” Keith asks. “You’re perfect.” 

“I’m— not. I’m really not,” Shiro says. “Look, maybe we’re both anxious about it. That’s normal. This isn’t, um… this isn’t exactly a typical way people get together,” Shiro says. “But, Keith… it’s going to be okay, yeah? We’re both a little worried and that’s okay. It’ll be okay.” 

“Yeah,” Keith whispers, wanting to believe that. He rubs at his face, feeling stupid and childish and so, so undesirable. 

“The first thing I’m going to do,” Shiro promises, “when we see each other… I’m just going to hold you, okay? Going to hold you until you know I won’t let go.” 

Keith hiccups a soft little laugh, despite himself. “Wow. My hero.” 

He’s glad Shiro doesn’t insist he’ll be okay. He’s glad Shiro doesn’t think him for telling him. Instead, he just whispers his name and laughs quietly, too. Somehow, it steadies Keith. If only a little. 

-

“My reason for being out here…” Shiro starts, out of the blue. 

It’s early evening now and Keith’s been nursing a stupid headache all afternoon, fueled on by stress and the smell of fire. He’s had so much water to drink and it’s done nothing. 

“Yeah?” Keith murmurs, quietly, when Shiro goes quiet. 

“I mean. I’ve been here for ten summers,” Shiro says. He sighs. “But I didn’t plan on being here so long, you know? I ended up liking it, but… I don’t know.” Shiro hesitates and then says, “I was with someone,” Shiro says, voice low and crackly over the radio. “Adam. He was sweet. So smart. But…” 

“Didn’t work out?” Keith asks. He ignores the spike of jealousy that pulses low in his gut. 

“Yeah.”

There’s silence for a long moment.

Shiro sighs. “My reason for being out here is boring. I just came out here with a broken heart, you know? I’m one of the boring nine out of ten.” 

“Okay,” Keith says. 

“That was years ago, though,” Shiro confesses. “We were together for those first few summers. He hated that I’d come out here. He wanted to spend the summer with me— he was a professor at a university, so he had summers off most of the time. His only free time, and I was off in the trees.” 

“You like the job,” Keith protests. He wishes he could see Shiro’s tower through the smoke. 

“I do,” Shiro agrees. “Adam, he… His brother got into an accident one summer. Almost died. And I didn’t come home. Adam called me and he was so upset, and he wanted me to come back. But I said that I couldn’t get away.” Shiro sighs. “I could have. It’d have been easy to find someone to take over my post for a few days, a week tops, for me to get home and make sure he was okay.” 

Keith listens, quiet, wanting to protest, wanting to absolve Shiro of any of the guilt in his voice. 

“We weren’t the same after that. I mean… I’d already felt distant from him. It’s why I didn’t want to go home, I guess. I just used it as an excuse. But… when I was getting ready to head out that next summer, Adam told me that if I went, he wouldn’t be there when I got back.” Keith imagines Shiro shrugging, his voice so quiet and so far away. “And he wasn’t.” 

“Shiro…”

“I’ve never… Ah. Well. I’ve never been great at relationships,” Shiro confesses. He sighs. “It’s easier for me to just be on my own, you know? It’s why this job works for me. It’s just me. I don’t mind being alone with my thoughts. I’m used to doing things on my own. I didn’t… I didn’t think I needed anybody.” 

“Oh,” Keith says.

“I don’t— I don’t think that now,” Shiro adds, quickly. “I’m— really happy I met you, Keith.”

Keith can’t help the small smile. “No, I… I know. I was just thinking that it sounds similar to my thinking, too.” 

“We’re not… crazy, right? I mean.” 

“Ah, well. Two months isn’t a long time to know someone,” Keith says, “Even with talking every single day. But… no. I don’t think we’re crazy.” 

Shiro laughs, a little quiet, a little strained. “Keith. I meant what I said. I’ve never felt this way about anybody before.” 

“I believe you,” Keith says. 

“I just— I wanted to tell you,” Shiro says. “I’m— I’m nervous about not being what you’re expecting. I’m _not_ perfect. I don’t want to… I don’t know. Disappoint you.” 

“I hog the blankets,” Keith says, abruptly. 

“What?” 

“I’ve been trying to think about what annoying habits I might have. Um, deal-breakers for you, that kinda stuff. I hog the blankets. But I also need to have blankets on the bed at all times. No matter the heat. I can’t fall asleep unless a blanket’s covering at least part of my body.” 

Shiro’s laughing, shocked. “Keith—” 

“I also look really fucking stupid when I come—” 

“ _Keith!_ ” Shiro says again, strained. But there’s laughter in his voice, something like relief. Keith clings to that. 

“M- my point,” Keith says, “is that… well. We’ll figure it out? I mean. I want to figure it out. If you do. I’m game if you are.” 

“I’m definitely game, Keith.” 

“Good. Then… if you can handle the fact that I’m a shitty son, I can handle the fact that you were kind of a crappy boyfriend to someone I don’t give a shit about.” 

“Keith!” Shiro says, laughing. 

Keith smiles, just a little helplessly. “It’s going to be okay, Shiro.” 

** **

**Day 59**

“What are you going to do after all of this?” Shiro asks him.

Keith sighs. “I… I guess I need to go home. Visit my dad.” He pauses, anxious. “What… what about you?” 

“Ah,” Shiro says and Keith thinks he’s smiling. “Well. I’m… Well. I’ve—” 

He fumbles, not able to put the question to words. Keith sucks in a deep breath and, once again, lets himself be brave. 

“You ever been to Arizona?” Keith asks, rushing it out before he can second-guess it, smiling. He hears Shiro’s sigh of relief. 

** **

**Day 60**

They get the evac call just before the fire really starts to rage. It jumps the river despite the fire line and it’s all over, apparently. Keith can hear the evacuation helicopter in the distance, picking up other lookout towers, research facilities, and park rangers. 

“I doubt they’ll keep calling it Thunderstorm Darkness now,” Keith mutters into the radio. 

“Yeah. It’ll be something boring. The Altea Forest Fire or the Red Lion Fire.” 

“Guess so,” Keith answers and packs up the last of his things. He hesitates, unsure if he should bring what other fire watchers have left behind, unsure if the tower’s in danger of burning along with everything else. 

Then again, he tried reading one page of the crime drama book left on his desk earlier in the summer and quickly realized just why it was left behind. 

Keith pats his hand against the door as he shuts it behind him and descends his tower for the last time. He hikes south towards his evacuation rendezvous. 

“Be safe,” Shiro tells him. 

“You too,” Keith answers. 

-

“Hey, Keith,” Shiro says. “We’re going to meet soon.” 

“Yeah, Shiro,” Keith answers. He’d be excited if he wasn’t also a ball of nerves. He picks his way along his route, taking his time. It’s hard to breathe and the last thing he needs to do right now is pass out from oxygen deprivation. 

“There’s, um… Something I should tell you,” Shiro says.

Keith pauses. He’s still a few miles away from his evac route, but he’s well out of the way of the fire. He can afford to take it slow, if only for a few minutes. He frowns down at the radio and can’t fathom Shiro’s tone, trying to pinpoint what it is that Shiro’s keeping from him, what he has left to say. 

“Oh god,” Keith says. “You really did kill your last ten husbands, didn’t you?” 

Shiro barks a loud laugh. “Hey!” 

It’s such a beautiful sound. Keith wants to wrap himself in it. 

“No, I just… Okay. A few summers back, do you remember seeing the news talk about the Pacific Crest Fire?” 

“I think?” Keith asks and resumes walking. “What about it?” 

“Okay. So. I, uh. Got caught in that fire.”

“I’m— _What_?” 

“My evac call came too late and I ended up getting caught in the fire. Not the serious heart of it, but enough that I ran into some trouble. Needed to get hospitalized for a while. That kinda thing. I got pinned by a falling tree that was, uh, literally on fire, you know?” 

“Shiro!” Keith says, alarmed. He wants to go back in time and save Shiro from this fire. He didn’t even know him back then. He’s safe now. But his heart is pounding. 

“I’m okay now! But…” He pauses. “I, um. I lost my arm in that fire,” Shiro says in a rush, the words stringing together. “I’ve got some scarring from it, too. It messed me up for a couple years. Some mornings I wake up and it’s still so sore and I can’t move. And I still get nightmares. Uh, you know, fun, light stuff. I understand if this is a deal-breaker.” 

“Oh my god, Shiro,” Keith says, his heart aching. 

“I just wanted to warn you. Before we meet,” Shiro says. 

“Oh my god,” Keith says again, his voice all shaky. “You don’t think I’m going to like… dump you over this, do you?” 

“Oh,” Shiro whispers. 

“God, you idiot,” Keith hisses. “Never mind you holding me, _I’m_ going to hold _you_ until you know for sure that I’m never letting you go.” 

Shiro’s breath is a hitching little thing, punched-out and shocked. It makes Keith absolutely ache to think that _this_ is what could shock Shiro. 

Whatever anxiety he felt about Shiro meeting him rushes away into the woods. It’s gone from him. All that matters in this moment is getting to Shiro and kissing him until he can’t breathe. That’s always been his game plan, but now it’s a critical mission. 

“I bet you’re the most beautiful man in the world,” Keith snaps into the radio. 

Breathlessly, he hears Shiro laugh. “That’s you,” he whispers. And then, quieter, reverently, he says, “Keith.” 

“You better get out of _this_ fire so I can kiss the crap out of you,” Keith snaps. 

“Wow,” Shiro breathes. “Yes, _sir_!” 

-

The rest of the day rushes in a blur. Keith gets to the rendezvous where research assistants for the local university were studying the mating habits of beavers— riveting stuff— and together they’re pulled into an evac helicopter. They lift off the ground and out of the smoke and it’s a clear, beautiful day aside from the destruction raging behind them. 

Keith’s radio loses power, but Keith assures himself that Shiro’s okay. Shiro’s okay. Shiro’s done this for ten summers. He’s going to be okay. He promised Keith. 

The anxiety swirls in his gut, though— they’re going to find each other. They’re going to meet. 

** **

**Day 61**

Keith doesn’t know what he expects, in the aftermath. 

He doesn’t know the protocol for evacuations or near-misses on fire watch, just the brief explanation he read in the orientation packet in the spring. Keith certainly doesn’t expect a parade, obviously, but he’ll admit privately to himself that he might have expected a bit more fanfare than what he receives. 

It’s clinical: Keith gets medical sign-off, gets debriefed on the state of the fire, gets his paycheck (more a pay-stub; he’s on direct-deposit), and then that’s that. He’s thanked for his time and sent on his way with no further concern for last-minute housing or transportation. 

The forest service ushers him out the metaphorical door and then dusts its hands clean of him. Maybe it’s just as well. 

Keith exits the forest service’s main office. The one saving grace to all this is that his truck isn’t stuck at the Altea Forest trailhead; the forest service made him leave a copy of his keys with the office at the start of summer and now he’s glad for it. His dusty old truck’s parked in the parking lot, looking otherwise unburnt. 

The sky is bright and clear, and the forest service outpost is miles away from the forest fire. It could be any other day. He’s in no great city, just a nothing-town that used to be a logging-town. He’s not far from the highway and the larger cities beyond it. He could go anywhere. 

Keith isn’t sure what to do. He hesitates outside the office, hands in his pockets, staring at his truck. Yes, he could go anywhere— but he doesn’t know where he’s supposed to be heading. His cell phone, unused this entire summer, still has no reception but is in desperate need of a recharge. 

He thinks, probably, he should find a hotel and charge the phone up. Give his parents a call. 

And then, from behind him, he hears such a warm, familiar voice ask, “Keith?” 

Everything inside Keith freezes, not from fear— but expectation. The world seems to still, if only for a moment. Keith sucks in a deep breath to steady himself, and then turns to look at Shiro for the first time, up close. 

“Shiro,” he whispers, and doesn’t know what he expected here, either— doesn’t know what he pictured in his mind— because nothing compares to the man in front of him.

He’s tall. Keith already knew that. He’s wide-shouldered. Keith knew that, too. His smile is sweet, a little crooked, but heartfelt, and Keith knew it would be. His eyes are, indeed, pretty and happy. (Beyond that, Keith doesn’t think the picture he drew of him does Shiro justice at all— but Keith could have guessed that.) 

There’s a scar over the bridge of his nose. His shirt sleeve is pinned up against his shoulder on his right-hand side. He looks strong. He looks happy. He looks shy. He’s staring at Keith like he’s never seen anything or anyone more beautiful, more precious. 

And Keith can’t even recall why he was ever afraid. 

“Hi,” Keith whispers, stepping towards Shiro. 

“Hey,” Shiro answers, still looking shy. 

“Fuck, you really are pretty,” Keith says and can’t even be embarrassed that he’s just blurted out the loudest thought in his stupid, lizard brain. 

It’s worth it, though, to hear Shiro’s laugh in real time, in real life, to see the way it lights up his entire face and the way his face turns red, so easily, so rapidly. The shyness melts away from his expression, replaced only with relief and joy. It’s perfect. He’s perfect. 

Helplessly, Shiro opens his arm out for Keith, a silent invitation. 

Keith laughs, relieved, his heart leaping, and steps into Shiro’s space, his arms curling around Shiro and not letting go. Shiro’s hold is tight, enveloping him and anchoring him close. For just a breath, they hold like that— just hugging each other, unmoving. 

Then, Keith tips his head up, wondering if it’s too much to kiss Shiro so soon, and finds Shiro already looking down at him, too. It’s easy, then, for Keith to lean up and catch Shiro’s mouth with his, to feel the hush of Shiro’s breath— such an intimate, familiar sound he’s heard only over a radio— and the whispered breath of Keith’s name on Shiro’s tongue. They nearly miss each other, off-center, but it’s instinctive for Keith to tilt his chin and correct, his mouth slotting perfectly to Shiro’s. 

“I knew it,” Shiro whispers when they part. He grins, boyish and sweet. “You’re beautiful, baby.” 

“So are you,” Keith says again, unembarrassed this time. He tugs Shiro down to kiss him again. 

Keith feels like he’s on fire. He never wants to stop burning.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> This author replies to comments.
> 
> **ETA:** Thank you to shmnlk for this [beautiful Keith](https://twitter.com/leandralena/status/1204042240110149635)!
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/stardropdream)


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